


Upturned

by sherlockthearchangel



Series: Upturned and Reversed [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John Watson, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Doctor John Watson, Domestic Fluff, Don't Like Don't Read, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Angst, Hurt John Watson, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Mpreg, Multi, Post-Reichenbach, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Sherlock (TV) Season/Series 03, Sherlock is a Mess, Temporary Amnesia, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockthearchangel/pseuds/sherlockthearchangel
Summary: Sherlock took a shaky breath as he pushed his key into the lock of 221B. Slowly he turned the key feeling more terrified than he’s been in his entire life. Coming home three months after his plummet from Bart’s he had a bigger surprise than just his sudden reappearance from the grave.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Upturned and Reversed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034340
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	1. Sherlock's Return

**Author's Note:**

> I'm moving all my works from my old account to this one before I delete it. Sorry if you've read this before.

Sherlock took a shaky breath as he pushed his key into the lock of 221B. Slowly he turned the key feeling more terrified than he’s been in his entire life. Coming home three months after his plummet from Bart’s he had a bigger surprise than just his sudden reappearance from the grave. Would John even recognize him with the longer hair, the sudden tan, and the weight loss? No, that’s silly thought, Sherlock, he’ll know. He let the door swing open with a deep screech revealing his very own doctor. John was sitting in his respective chair with his laptop resting on his crossed legs. The doctor's hair was longer, combed back and greyer than before, and his eyes seemed to hold a hardness that wasn’t there before.

“I said I wasn’t hungry Ms. Hudson.” the doctor dismissed without turning his eyes from the computer.

Sherlock stood there in confusion, unsure how to proceed, unsure what to say, and for the first time in his life, unsure of the future. John huffed in frustration when he did not hear the retreating footsteps of Ms. Hudson.

“Ms. Hudson, I said I am not hungry!” He snapped his laptop closed with force as he stood; finally facing the other person in the room. A heavy silence filled the room, not even breathing could be heard. It felt like hours before John spoke, “Sherlock?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, say anything but he only gulped like a fish. John’s eyes narrowed in rage and he approached him in a fashion that Sherlock had expected but wasn’t prepared for. He saw a flash of John’s eyes before a hot searing pain sent him spiraling to the floor. “You bastard!” Sherlock scrambled away from his assailant but John only continued with the blows to his face. Sherlock made no move to fight back, only blocking kicks and punches to his stomach.

“John, please!” he quietly begged as he took a chance to stand during John’s pause for breath. Sherlock brought a hand to his nose, pulling it away as blood seemed to soak them. He was immensely glad that no punches or kicks were thrown towards his stomach. The shorter man still had a fire in his eyes, and he took one last swing towards the younger man’s face. He embraced the pain as he fell motionless to the floor allowing the dizziness to take over.

Sherlock’s thoughts faded into black as he heard John growl out, “now I’m done.”  
\------------

Sherlock awoke several hours later to a completely black 221b, it appeared that he had slept far into the night. His bones contested at his position on the floor, “oh god” he groaned as he lifted himself from the floor. He only seemed to make it a few feet before sprawling into his chair. He certainly didn’t expect that beating. He pulled the string on the lamp beside him and the room around him lit up with a warm glow. He could hear John’s footsteps from the room above. At the sound of John's descending footsteps, he froze in fear. Sherlock at the sight of John instinctively wrapped his arms around his slightly swollen stomach and slammed his eyes closed. He flinched at the feeling of a soft wet rag prodding at his nose. He cautiously opened his eyes to face the older man.

"John I-" he whimpered out.

"I don't wanna hear it."

"I have something to tell you, I'm-"

"I don't care. Just let me say this! Sherlock, it's over. You can live here and we can live together but whatever we had… it’s over. I can't forgive you for this."

Sherlock's chest cramped at the words. He bowed his head to hide the tears gathering in his eyes, but it only caused John to lift his chin to continue prodding the cuts and bruises. He hissed as John roughly scrubbed at the dried blood.

"Oi, will you just stay still for once!" John shifted closer, his touches becoming gentler as he watched the subtle clenches of his eyes. It took John another twenty minutes of patching up Sherlock's face. The two men said no words to each other. John couldn't say he didn't feel a little bit of guilt for busting up his nose. John had placed a bandage on the bridge keeping it in place. Sherlock was not going to be happy about this tomorrow.

"Alright, It’s patched." John looked at Sherlock's closed eyes, "Sherlock?"

Sure enough, the detective had fallen asleep to John's whispered curses, and the sound of London's busy streets. The doctor found it a little odd that Sherlock Holmes, the man who would stay awake for days on end had just fallen asleep in the middle of something. It was interesting how soft his features had become, while the rest of him seemed skinnier and smaller. John made his way into the main floor bedroom and quickly and quietly removed his belongings and took them back upstairs. No need for Sherlock to know how deep his sentiment was.

\----  
Unknown Location, Russia (2 months prior)

Sherlock Holmes found himself sitting on the floor of a nasty bathroom located in the back of a gas station. The walls were covered in unknown stains, and the floor was littered with dead bugs and fluids that he preferred not to notice. He gagged again at the smell radiating from the toilet that he had spent the better part of ten minutes vomiting into. He dropped his legs and stretched them out in front of him, allowing his arms to drop weakly to his side. He gazed tiredly into his hand where a stick of cheap plastic felt more like gold than anything.

Pregnant.

It read positive. He was with child; with John's child. Sherlock laughed sadly at the realization. He, of all people, was pregnant. This meant that he would have to abandon his mission or terminate his child. The second option was immediately erased. He lifted the test to his eyes carefully tracing the lettering of the word. If he wasn't so fucking terrified, he knows he would have felt a slight feeling of pure happiness.

He imagined John, his lovely doctor, and his partner in crime. He scoffed at the thought of being pestered by him about eating healthy and resting for the baby. He wanted it so bad, he wanted so bad to be back home in bed cuddled tightly against John, feeling his chin on his head and feeling the breath from his snores on his hair. He shook the thoughts from his head and stood from the ground, he pocketed the test and instead removed his mobile.

"Mycroft, I must return home." He stated not giving the other man a chance to protest before hanging up and leaving the dirty establishment. He needed to go home to John, he needed to tell him the news.

\----------------  
Now

Sherlock awoke stiff and nauseous still sitting upright in his chair. As he stood he had two sensations; the sensation of an obviously broken nose, and that he was gonna vomit. He bolted for the bathroom where he proceeded to empty his already empty stomach. After several dry heaves, he slumped to the floor and rested his head on the side of the tub.

"You're killing me small one!" He hissed to his stomach as he rubbed gentle circles onto it. After regaining composure he made his way into his bedroom. Sherlock felt unnerved that everything seemed exactly the same, and not a hair was out of place. Quickly he removed the test from the insides of his pants and stuffed it underneath his neatly folded socks.

He proceeded to shower and change into fresh clothes. His clothes, of course, seemed ill-fitting in odd ways. His pants were tight around the middle, but loose at the thighs, and his shirts were tight at the hips but baggy at the neck. He wandered into the kitchen where he found John at the table sipping his coffee, while he mindlessly read the paper. Sherlock stiffened at the sight, unsure if he was allowed in the presence of the captain. It felt like several hours passed before John looked up from his paper to the taller man.

"I made tea, and you look like you need to eat a buffalo." He stated simply as he stood to prepare Sherlock a sugar-filled cup of tea. The younger man took a seat across from John's chair, feeling very out of place in his own home. He flinched as a cup of piping hot tea, and jam covered toast appeared in front of his nose. Sherlock stared at the tea, remembering his very obnoxious dietary restriction.

"I'm good, I'll just have the toast, thank you." He politely declined. His rejection seemed to bother John a bit.

"What? Too good for some home-brewed tea?" John attempted a joke but Sherlock saw easily passed it into the hurt.

"No, of course not. I'm just… not feeling well at the moment." He lied, well kind of.

Sherlock thanked the gods when John chose to believe his obvious lie instead of pushing it. Sherlock scarfed down the toast barely tasting it on his tongue as he appreciated the mere presence of food. They sat in silence for a while both just eating and reading the news. Sherlock decided that now would be a good time to reveal his revival to the rest of the world.

"I must get going to Scotland Yard." He stated as he stood from the table and placed his plate into the sink. John nodded but didn’t look up from the paper.

As Sherlock entered Scotland Yard he felt every single pair of eyes glued to his face. He uncomfortably kept his head down and made his way to Lestrade’s office. As he made his way to the door he took a deep shaking breath before knocking.

“Come in!” It was odd how happy the sound of Lestrade’s voice had made him. He slowly opened the door and revealed himself to the detective. “What the fuck?”  
“Hi?” Sherlock felt his deep voice crack as he spoke.

Lestrade jumped from his chair and it seemed that he was instantly wrapped in a bear hug. The younger man leaned heavily into the hug, and returned the embrace. It had been so long since he had felt the warmth of another person. He willed the tears gathering in his eyes to stay, but he failed as he openly sobbed into the arms of the D.I. The whole past three months were coming back in a shocking wave and he finally allowed himself to feel. Lestrade was whispering comforting words in his ear, “it’s okay”, “you’re okay”, “you’re home now”, “I’m here”. He was unaware of how long it had been until Lestrade guided him to the couch in his office, and the other man took a seat at his desk.

“Where have you been?”

“Spain, Russia, Iceland- too many to list.”

“But why?”

“Moriarty. He had snipers on you, Ms. Hudson, and… John.” He explained, he acted disinterested, hoping that Lestrade wouldn’t push for answers, as he didn’t feel like talking about it.

“I imagine the bandages are John’s doing?” Sherlock only nodded a yes. “Well, Mr. Holmes. I imagine you’re here looking for work?”

“No, I'm afraid not, Lestrade. My current situation requires a certain level of caution.” He explained.

“What’s your situation then?” He asked, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head.

Sherlock balked, “I- uh… It’s quite hard to explain… I am currently expecting.”

Lestrade leaned forward and scooted closer to his desk. “Expecting… what?”

Sherlock's eyes darted around the room, wishing desperately that he hadn't spoken his previous words. "I'm pregnant." He threw the words into the air quickly as if he coughed out a scrap of food that was choking him. Lestrade just stared at him, trying to get his brain to absorb the information he was just given.

"Is this a joke?"

"Believe me, I almost wish it was."

"Whose the other parent?"

"Deduce it. It’s quite obvious."

"How far along?"

"Nearly four months if my memory serves me right."

"John. You shagged Watson" Lestrade burst out into hearty laughs while Sherlock stood embarrassed and somewhat offended. "Does he know?"

"No, and I'd prefer to keep it that way for the foreseeable future."

"Why?"

"John has ended our relationship and friendship. It seems in my best interest to not hurt him further."

Lestrade shook his head in shock "Sherlock, you can't hide this from him."

"Believe me, Greg, I tried to tell him, he doesn't care what I have to say."

"Sherlock, you don't have a choice! Do you think that you can just hide this for 6 months! Are you just gonna come home one day with a baby and say 'whoops I forgot to tell you I was pregnant, and it's yours' that would be a new low for you, lower than faking your death!" Lestrade was borderline screaming but keeping his voice low enough to keep others from hearing them.

"What do I do?" Sherlock whimpered, "he hates me."

"You tell him anyway."


	2. John Knows

2 months prior  
Moscow, Russia (hospital)

Sherlock glared unseeingly at the ceiling of the office. He forced himself to disconnect as a doctor ran an ultrasound wand across his flat stomach. They exchanged no words during the interaction, the doctor only speaking directly to Mycroft who sat stoically beside his younger brother. Neither would ever admit this to anyone but Mycroft did indeed have a hand resting on Sherlock's hand, steadying the obvious shaking.

"Mr. Holmes, your sibling is indeed pregnant." The doctor explained before wiping the gel from Sherlock's stomach. Mycroft swallowed heavily, attempting to kill nausea creeping up his throat.

Sherlock snapped, "I can understand Russian, speak to me not my moronic brother." The doctor cringed and quickly left the room.

"Oh dear brother, how on Earth have you gotten into this predicament?"

Sherlock scoffed, "I believe you should know that, brother." He hissed.

"Oh Sherlock, you are out of your mind! Keeping this child? You have a job to do!"

Sherlock sat up in a flash, "do you think I don't know that! I just need some time. I'll go back to John until the end of the pregnancy and then I'll finish it."

"Sherlock, it's not that easy! You think John is gonna be okay with you waltzing in magically alive, and then leaving him with a child that wasn't planned?" Mycroft's voice rose to nearly a yell.

Sherlock took a deep breath, "this is my one chance, to have a family. Look at my age, My. If I don't do this now, it'll never happen and whether or not John participates is none of my concern!"

Mycroft shook his head in disapproval, "I will help you, but I am not happy about this."

\---------------  
Now

Sherlock hung his coat and scarf, feeling extremely defeated by the events of the day. He immediately curled up onto the couch pulling the pillow over his face. Just as he was starting to drift into a nap, he heard shuffling coming from his bedroom. He stumbled out of the living room towards his bedroom where he found the door wide open. He grumbled as he passed the doorway to find John. John had gone through everything he could. The drawers were pulled open, clothes were thrown aside, and the bed was pulled apart.

"John?" Sherlock tiredly raised an eyebrow at John who was sitting on his floor against his bed. John had his hands on his face rubbing them frustratedly. What Sherlock also noticed was an empty bottle of liquor at his feet.

"Oh, Sherlock… i-i didn't think you would be home yet…"

"What are you doing? Oh… you're drunk… "

"I don't remember- I just got here." John looked around confused for a second before reaching into his back pocket, "I have this?" He held out the plastic test towards Sherlock. With an odd amount of calmness, he grabbed the test from John's shaking hand and pocketed the item.

"Let's get you to bed, we'll talk about this tomorrow." He reached for the older man who batted his hands away, "don't touch me! You liar! Everything about you is a lie! You never loved me!" John devolved into sobs, "just go back to whoever- whoever you want."

Sherlock stood in absolute shock. He couldn't help the tears that gathered in his eyes at John's (though indirect) accusation. "John i-" he paused unsure if now was the right time. "John, it's late. Let's go to bed and we'll talk about this in the morning. You take my bed you're far too inebriated to walk upstairs."

John growled as he grabbed the liquor bottle and chucked it at the taller man. Sherlock ducked as the bottle smashed against the wall causing shards to rain down into his hair. "You should've stayed dead."

Sherlock gave no response before leaving the room to curl up onto the couch once again. He shook the glass from his curls into the sink. He yearned for release, for the drugs, the alcohol, or the danger. He grabbed this violin from its case but found himself unable to play it. He placed it back before plopping onto the sofa.

Sherlock dragged the blanket off the back of the couch and covered himself. He tossed and turned for hours unable to find a comfortable spot. He couldn't imagine what finding a comfortable spot would be like in a few months. It was dawn by the time he finally found a comfortable position.

\---------------  
It was about noon when John stumbled into the kitchen moaning about how his head hurt. Sherlock grumbled at the wake-up, and deeply angry with the shorter man. John stared over at Sherlock who was stretching and beginning to sit up. John laughed lightly at Sherlock's grumpy face and his messy hair.

"Whose is it?" John questioned as he pulled the kettle from the cabinet.

"What?" Sherlock asked as he walked to join John in the kitchen.

"The test. Why do you have it?"

“Oh… I suppose you remember last night…” he took a seat at the table

John bowed his head in shame, "I guess I had a little too much scotch…"

"Yes, I guess you did," Sherlock responded with wit, hoping to change the subject. They sat in odd silence for what felt like hours but was only about two minutes. Sherlock studied John as the older man's eyes dotted across his body searching for something. More than likely track marks, red eyes, weight loss, fever, restlessness. Sherlock snapped slamming his mug on the table causing his water to spill over the edges. "I'm not on drugs, John! Trust me that's the last thing I want to do right now." John went arrow straight and his eyes shot wide open. "Why the hell do you even care, you want me dead remember?" He heard himself yelling.

"Sherlock-"

The younger man stood the chair screeching backward, "the test is mine okay and I'm… pregnant." He whispered suddenly feeling the rage melt from his body.

He sat back down, rubbing his face with his hands. John stared in shock unable to do anything but stare. Sherlock's eyes filled with tears as he bowed his head in deep shame. John's eyes filled with anger, shock, and worry. Sherlock wasn't sure which emotion was going to explode first.

"Oh my god I hit you, I beat the crap outta you!" John panicked. The panic quickly faded into shock, "oh my god you're serious, you're actually pregnant?" John's eyes finally seemed to darken into what Sherlock expected the most, the rage. John's infamous rage. "You bastard. That's why you came back!”

Sherlock said nothing just allowed John to continue his angry tantrum. He allowed tears to fall freely down his cheeks as John's screams continued. Sherlock stared forward unseeingly and his stomach swirled with nausea. He flinched as John stood and approached him, expecting a brutal punch to the face. Instead, he felt rough hands on his face forcing his eyes to focus on the blond in front of him.

"Is it ours?" John growled as he stared at Sherlock's stomach. The younger man simply nodded, as he shook in fear. "Fuck." John walked quickly towards the door, grabbed his coat, and left their home.

As soon as the door closed Sherlock bolted for the bathroom to be violently sick. His heart was racing and aching as he took in the last several minutes. John was leaving, he was gonna pack his shit and leave. The thought had him gagging into the bowl again. He sat against the bathtub for several minutes before deciding he felt gross. He slowly undressed and got into the shower. Feeling weak and overworked he sat and brought his knees to his chest and allowed the lukewarm water to run down his face.

\----------  
John kicked the rock on the sidewalk causing it to skitter across the pavement. He shoved his fist into his jacket pockets and continued pacing the alley. Fucking Sherlock. John thought. Him and his stupid lies, and stupid sad blue eyes. He was angry, guilty, and shocked. He thought back to the night before Sherlock's supposed death. The warmth he felt as he curled around his boyfriend, and how soothing the sound of his snores once were. He thought about how gravely his voice was in the morning and how his eyes- no. John stopped himself, he couldn't forgive him for this. He couldn't think about the sweet things any longer. The love was nothing but a lie meant to hurt him further.

John spent the better part of thirty minutes leaning against a dumpster trying to come up with some sort of conversation to have with the detective. As the winter wind began to blow harder he surrendered for the warmth of his home. John stumbled into the flat to find everything exactly the same except for the sound of the shower. He shed his coat before treading down the hall.

"Sherlock?" He called as he knocked lightly on the door. No reply. "Sherlock?" He called again a bit louder. Nothing.

He reached for the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He gasped at the sight of Sherlock shivering under the spray while he seemed locked inside his mind. John raced for the faucet and slammed it off. He reached for Sherlock and hoisted him out of the tub. The taller man moved with John allowing the shorter man to wrap a towel around him and lead him into the bedroom.

"Sherlock?" John received no words, he resorted to giving a light slap to the younger man's face. Sherlock blinked and his hand shot out to grab John's wrist, but he quickly released it.

"John? You're still here?"

"Well yeah, I still have to get my stuff." He grumbled.

The little hope in Sherlock's eyes melted and he turned away from the ex-soldier and buried himself under the many blankets that covered his bed. "You may leave." He spoke, his words muffled by the fabric.

"No, I have something to say first!" John firmly stated before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "You left me. You jumped off a building in front of me. Then you have the audacity to come back and throw this on me? You should've stayed away." John growled.

"Is that how you feel?" Sherlock uncovered his head from the blankets and glared daggers at the other man. "I saved your life, for that, I don't have any regrets. You can be as pissed as you want but I will not feel bad for you being alive. I will, however, regret ever loving you!" His voice rose from whispers to angry yelling.

Sherlock could've sworn John's eyes caught fire, "I'll be back for my things tomorrow." He began stomping away. Sherlock untangled himself from the blankets and called after John. "John, wait-" he called as the front door slammed.

Sherlock dressed quickly before flopping back onto the bed. A few minutes later a nervous Mrs. Hudson rocked on her heels as she stood in the doorway of Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock was staring blankly at the ceiling trying to keep the tears from flowing down his face.

"I imagine you heard that." Sherlock's deep voice in the silence made her flinch a bit.

"I heard you boys having a row, but over what I don't know." She took a seat on the edge of the bed. Sherlock rolled to face her, "can I tell you something?"

"Of course dear!"

"I- I oh for god's sake, hang on a moment. It might just be easier to show you." Sherlock stumbled out of the room and appeared again a few seconds later. Mrs. Hudson grew concerned as she saw the uncertainty in his eyes. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

He stepped forward and reached for her hand. She reluctantly gave it to him. In return for her hand, he removed his other hand from behind his back and placed an object in hers. The detective took a step back and allowed her to examine what he had given her. He knew the moment she connected it in her mind. She went stiff, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Sherlock…" she set the test on the bedside table. "You're serious?" He nodded, and she quickly embraced him in a choking hug.


	3. Just Breathe

1 month later

Sherlock leaned against Lestrade's car viewing the crime scene from a distance. Sherlock's reserved behavior brought chills to Lestrade's skin. The younger man simply showed up when asked and deduced. There were no insults, babbling, or running off. Sherlock's presence almost felt wrong without the presence of his doctor and he could see a deep sadness in Sherlock's eyes that he would never admit out loud.

"Sherlock, you ready to go?" Lestrade called from where he stood beside Donovan. Sherlock nodded his head as he circled to the other side of the car.

Lestrade trudged over to his car and got in quickly being joined by Sherlock. The ride back to Baker Street was quiet (like most days now, unless Sherlock had actually gotten a night of sleep for once) it bothered him so deeply how changed he was, and how he flinched at sudden movements.

"When was the last time you slept?" Lestrade asked.

"I sleep when I need to."

"Which is every night, Sherlock, it isn't just your body anymore." Sherlock made a disgusted face at that statement.

"She's fine Greg, I've gotten no complaints so far."

"How are you so sure it's a girl?"

"I just am."

The vehicle came to a rough stop at the door of Baker Street. Sherlock slowly extracted himself from the car and strutted off to the door. Lestrade smiled at how nonchalant he was before driving away.

As Sherlock entered the house he heard two voices. He paused at the entrance trying to deduce who was in his home. Mrs. Hudson was one, but the other one was John. Sherlock took the stairs two at a time bolting into his flat to avoid any sight of the other man. He bolted the door behind him and shed his coat.

"Oh, I believe Sherlock is home, dear! Why don't you go say hello?" Mrs. Hudson's sweet voice could be heard from below.

"Uh, I think I'll just go… he's probably busy."

"Nonsense! He hardly leaves the flat, he's probably just watching the telly." Sherlock cringed at her words. He didn't need her to make him sound unwell.

"Oh, I suppose it won't hurt, I did leave my mug there." Sherlock cursed to himself the last thing he wanted was a confrontation with his doctor.

Sherlock counted each step as John ascended to their formerly shared home. By the time the older man reached the door, Sherlock was breathing heavily, panic filling his lungs.

"Hi," John said as he awkwardly entered the room.

"Hello."

John's eyes roamed his body cataloging the changes; lack of sleep, weight loss, the growing bump, unkempt hair, and appearance. Sherlock shifted his feet back and forth feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny. John finally tore his eyes away before trudging into the kitchen and retrieving his favorite mug from the cabinet (one that Sherlock had gotten as a gift for their one year anniversary).

"Shouldn't you be taking it easy and not chasing around criminals in your condition?" John asked while staring at Sherlock's obvious bump.

Sherlock took a seat in his chair and snatched the remote from the side table. "I don't chase, I consult, and mind you I've been much more careful. I can't exactly stand that long, let alone run very fast."

John took a step closer to Sherlock and rested his hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, John." He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Nevermind, I should go." John hurried out of the door. Sherlock groaned and sunk into the chair finally able to curl up and watch terrible telly. It must have been well past eight at night when Mrs. Hudson wandered into the flat with a bowl of some sort of soup.

"Yoohoo, Sherlock!" She happily placed the bowl on the side table. She took in his pale stature and tight lips, "are you alright dear?" She ran her soft fingers through his hair.

"Yes, just a bit- uncomfortable." He explained as he clicked off the television.

"Ah, well let me know if you need anything."

"Will do."

Mrs. Hudson left, and Sherlock made his way to his bedroom.

\--------------  
1 month before his return

Sherlock cowered in the corner fear radiating off him in waves as he heard footsteps pace the hallway in front of his cell. He cradled his wrist in his lap wishing desperately that the pipe hadn't broken it. Though the swelling and odd shape told him otherwise. He was so close- so close to going home. If he had just kept walking and ignored the noises he wouldn't be sitting in a dirty abandoned prison. The small mattress that he sat on was covered in his own blood and urine. The fear of pain led him too many times to losing control of his bladder.

He whimpered as the door swung open and a beefy Serbian man stomped towards him. The man screamed something but Sherlock didn't understand it, which caused the man to forcefully drag him by his leg out of the room. He knew where he was going, back to the chains and ropes where they would bind him and beat him with the pipes and whips. He stayed silent as he watched a trail of blood ooze a path behind him. As they reached the clearing, Sherlock did as he always did. He placed a hand on his stomach and whispered a gentle prayer to his child along with apologies for it's suffering. He no longer struggled when the ropes pulled him towards the ceiling, and he barely flinched when the pipe smashed against his bareback.

\--------------  
Now

Sherlock flung himself forward nearly catapulting himself out of bed. He gripped tightly to the pillow beside him and used the other hand to rub comforting circles on his stomach. He fell backward struggling to catch his breath. Another stupid nightmare, about another stupid thing. Was it really a nightmare anymore if it was true? He groaned as he lifted himself from his position, finding sleep no longer desirable. Sherlock wandered into the living room where the sun had just begun shining in through the curtains.

He popped some toast into the toaster and set about brewing his tea as he watched the cars through the window. As he stood at the window a dull pain radiated through his belly that quickly transformed into what felt like a stab wound. He doubled over gripping the armchair as he lowered himself into it. He took deep breaths trying to distract his mind from the pain. He felt a sudden wetness between his thighs and looked down in horror to see drops of blood spreading onto the leather.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He screamed so loud he could've sworn he heard a car slam its breaks in confusion from the street below. The older women came bounding up the stairs and rushed into the room. She took one look at Sherlock before bolting for the phone.

\---------------  
John groaned as he finished up dealing with another drunken man who wandered in from the pubs. He discarded his gloves and made his way down the hall of curtains as the emergency entrance flew open and a gurney was pushed into the building.

Finally, something interesting he thought.

That thought, however, died quickly as he noted a sobbing Mrs. Hudson gripping the pale hand of whoever was on that gurney. He watched as an EMT spoke to her and she reluctantly let go of the hand allowing them to roll the person away. John hurried towards her. As she laid eyes on him she immediately wrapped him in a hug and cried into his shoulder.

"Oh, it's so awful, John!" She sobbed as she gripped harder to the back of his coat. He whispered comforts into her ear as he rubbed her back hoping her cries would begin to cease. "Please help him!" John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Help who?" He asked, cringing at his own cluelessness.

"Sherlock, John!" She began her hysterics again. John nearly let her hit the floor as he let go and began sprinting down the hall. He found Sherlock surrounded by the EMTs. As he got closer they dispersed allowing him to observe his patient. Sherlock was paler than usual, breathing in pants, shaking, and covered in a heavy sheen of sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead. He leaned over Sherlock taking his face between his hands and forcing the wide blue eyes to focus on him.

"Hey, just breathe, it's gonna be okay. Whatever this is we'll fix it." He promised.

He looked over towards one of the EMTs who began spitting out his stats and the fact that he was probably miscarrying. John's heart clenched in pain as he realized the gravity of the situation. He forced Sherlock to keep looking at him as an IV was placed. Sherlock's breathing wasn't changing if anything it seemed to get worse.

"Sherlock, you have to breathe! The stress isn't helping!" He explained desperately trying to decrease the anxiety in his friend. However, the attempts were pointless as the pain was too much for him to comprehend the world around him.

John whispered small comforts as he began to cut through the clothing tossing them aside. As he reached for the shirt Sherlock grabbed his arm, "please don't." He whimpered as he pushed John's arms away.

"Sherlock, don't what?"

Sherlock flailed and continued batting away his hands. "You can't see them!"

Despite Sherlock's fighting skills, John's strength overpowered him and his arms were pinned to his sides. "Sherlock, I'm trying to help. I need you to stop fighting me for god's sake!" Sherlock froze realizing that his protests were useless as John continued undressing him. He knew the second John saw, as the man's breath hitched and he sucked in a painful gasp. Sherlock felt tears rolling down his face as the shame engulfed him, along with his pain. He looked at John, whose face went from shock to panic.

"Sherlock! Breathe! You're having a panic attack I need you to listen to me-" Sherlock tried so hard to listen but sleep was calling for him.


	4. The Past Revealed

3 days later

Sherlock became aware of two sensations how incredibly sore he was, and a heavyweight on his left wrist. He opened his eyes to be greeted by the sight of white walls and the smell of disinfectant. A gentle snore could be heard beside him causing him to flinch in surprise. John was sitting beside him and he looked absolutely exhausted as his eyes held dark bags, he was unshaven, and his clothes were severely wrinkled. Sherlock's shifting brought John's eyes to flutter open. The older man quickly stood and began examining Sherlock.

"Are you in any pain?" He asked as he checked the IV lines and the stitches.

"No… Is she okay?" He asked, scared to know the answer.

John smiled causing Sherlock to instantly relax, "she's okay, just had a little issue is all. The real question is 'are you okay?'"

Sherlock attempted to push himself up into a sitting position but found that a pain in his left wrist that was surrounded by a heavy cast stopped him. John took notice and carefully adjusted his pillows to allow him to sit up.

"What's wrong with my hand?"

"You had a break that never healed correctly so we surgically repaired it," John explained as he took a seat again. The older man looked at the detective with guilty eyes which made Sherlock wiggle on the bed.

"John?"

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock… I should've noticed that you weren't…okay."

"What do you mean, I'm fine besides the obvious."

"Don't- don't lie to me. Mrs. Hudson told me, Lestrade told me… they said it's like you're not even here."

"That's absurd, of course, I'm here!"

"You aren't. You're physically here, but something is missing." John scratched his head as he leaned back in his chair.

"Is that it, John? What do you expect, my life is changing. I'm pregnant, having a child, bun in the oven whatever you wanna call it. I'm not heartless, despite what you all may think." Sherlock grumbled.

"It's not about that, Sherlock. It's the nightmares, the spacing out, the flinching. You need help."

"It will pass with time."

"You need a doctor, Sherlock. You need medication and someone to talk to."

Sherlock smirked, "I have a doctor."

John rolled his eyes and leaned forward. "Okay fine, then talk to me about it."

Sherlock's smirk dropped and he looked past John, "I can't."

John groaned in annoyance, "if you won't do it for yourself, then do it for her." John pointed towards Sherlock's stomach. "Babies can sense that stress, and it hurts them just as much. You can't do this to our daughter."

Sherlock stared at him confused. "Our daughter?"

John shifted uncomfortably, "I want to be in her life, and I want to come back home." Sherlock's heart fluttered with happiness but quickly sank with his next words. "We will never be how we were but I want her to have two parents."

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the entrance of Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. The landlady still held a sad look on her face and she approached the bed. "Oh Sherlock, how are you feeling?" She ran a soft comforting hand through his hair.

"As well as expected I suppose. I'll be amazing once I get out of this godforsaken place."

Lestrade spoke up, "sorry Sherlock, you have to be observed for another night before they will release you." The younger man dramatically groaned and flopped onto the pillow. "This is absurd, I live with a doctor!"

John laughed under his breath, "Sherlock, I work in the emergency room."

"Which makes you all the more perfect for the job."

"Sherlock, I don't have everything I need to monitor you," John explained giving Sherlock a stern look. "I have something to show you." He reached beside himself into his briefcase before removing several small pieces of paper. "It's our daughter."

Sherlock reached for the ultrasound picture and brought it close to his face. He said nothing and allowed tears to fall slowly down his cheeks. John rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

\-------------------  
Before the fall

Sherlock tossed and turned in bed, much to the annoyance of John who often nights slept like a rock. He tried to focus on the sounds of John's soft snores and his warmth but he still felt uneasy. Sherlock huffing in frustration sat up and tossed the comforter to the side. He stood to leave the room but stiffened as he felt John's rough hand loop around his wrist. He turned to see John's concerned groggy eyes looking up at him.

"Baby, where are you going?"

"The couch I can't- I can't sleep." He shrugged out of John's grip.

"You can not sleep next to me." Sherlock nearly smiled at John's cheeky grin.

"I can't, you need your sleep. Just go back to sleep darling, and don't worry about me."

"Fuck sleep, Sherlock. Get over here." He patted the spot beside him.

Sherlock sighed and crawled back under the covers. He turned to look at John who wrapped his arms securely around him and pulled him to his chest. Sherlock sighed in content as John allowed him to tuck his head under his chin. He wished it could stay like this forever. Logically he knew, he could never have something so wonderful.

"Stop thinking so hard," John grumbled.

"It's not hard to think about you."

"God I love you, you pain in the arse."

\-------------------  
Now

Sherlock had left the hospital a week prior and he now found himself avoiding John like the plague. This was obviously difficult as John was constantly nagging him about things. "Did you take your meds?" "Have you eaten?" "Are you in pain?" "How's the baby?" Sherlock was one more stupid question away from losing it. He knew John meant well, but he needed space, and he needed time to mourn. He needed to mourn their relationship and come to terms with it all.

Today however John had finally gone back to work and left him alone. He took this opportunity to curl up on the couch and catch up on the shows he missed. He pulled the throw pillow from behind him and rested his arm across it. The evidence of John's return stared at him, his laptop, his shoes, old tea mugs in the sink. Neither man had truly spoken to each other besides Sherlock answering his questions.

Sherlock's heart still fluttered at the sight of him but their interactions felt sour. He wanted him back, for things to go back to the way they were. Logically he knew that dwelling on the past didn't make it change. Sherlock's hobbit behavior left him with a lot of time to contemplate his self-loathing. He grunted as he heard his phone ding from the floor beside him. He reached down to pick it up thinking it was John making sure he didn't die or something. Sherlock was mildly surprised to see a text message from Mycroft.

'Sherlock, the mission must continue. -MH'

'I'm a bit busy at the moment. You know with letting a living thing harvest my nutrients. -SH'

'I will do my best to keep you out of danger but we must deal with this. An attack is being planned. -MH

'Mycroft, what do you expect me to do? Figure it out yourself, I'm out. -SH'

'Sherlock. -MH'

'Sherlock do not ignore me! -MH'

At this point, Sherlock turned off his phone and tossed it to the other side of the couch. He wiggled himself deeper into the comfort of the couch and sighed in contentment.  
\--------------  
John grumbled at the sight of Mycroft's black car. He was almost home too. He reluctantly stomped over to the vehicle and yanked the door open. He was surprised to actually see Mycroft and not one of his various assistants. Mycroft patted the seat next to him as a queue for John to sit.

"I figured we needed to speak Doctor Watson."

"And why is that?" John crossed his arms.

"Well, see as you did impregnate my dear brother along with various other things, I believe I must know whatever information you can provide… and perhaps I can answer some questions for you as well."

John's mouth hung open in shock, "how do you know that the baby is mine?"

"Oh please, John! Did you think that the two of you can hide a two-year relationship from me? The D.I. and your friends may not see it but I do."

"Ah, right the British government and whatnot." John shook his head in annoyance.

"Anyways, enough small talk. How is my baby brother doing? I heard about his little stay at the Emergency Room."

"He's fine, and the baby is fine. She's perfect. He is a bit jumpy and there are these scars all over him… I just can't imagine what could've caused that."

"You're a soldier, Doctor Watson. You know what it means." Mycroft rolled his eyes, quite similar to how Sherlock does.

"Yes, but maybe I need to hear it from someone else," John admitted trying not to let the fear drip into his voice. "It can't be true. No one could possibly be that cruel to do that to him, not to my Sherlock." John's voice began to crack.

"It is the truth. He may never tell you that it is, but it is. I can't tell you the whole tale as I am not Sherlock, but I can tell you what I know. Are you really sure you'd like to know about those three months?"

John nodded slowly and closed his eyes to listen.


	5. He's Back

*dream*

Whoosh  
The pipe whipped through the air before landing heavily on his side. He screamed as a flame seemed to light within his body. His tormenter circled him allowing the pipe to drag along the ground creating an awful screech.

"You think we don't know? That we don't know about the child?" Sherlock cringed and struggled against the chains. "This wouldn't be torture if I didn't destroy what you love most."

The tormenter dropped the pipe before drawing a knife from his pocket. Sherlock screamed as he approached him.

"Please it's innocent! You can have whatever you want from me but please don't hurt them!" He pleaded through tears.

Evidently, the torturer didn't care as he took no hesitation with his slow cuts.  
*end of the dream*  
\--------------

He wasn't aware he'd fallen asleep until he felt John's rough hands shaking him awake.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up!!" John was shouting in his ears.

Sherlock jumped awake. He looked at John whose eyes were wide and concerned. He pushed off John's hands with his own unsteady ones. He pushed himself off the couch before bolting for his room. He didn't allow himself a single glance at John.

"Sherlock, wait!" Sherlock ignored him. He couldn't let John see him this weak. Knowing John he would be with him solely out of some weird sense of obligation. He wanted John to forgive him as he was, not because he felt bad for his hardships.

He sat on the edge of the bed and held his knees with his shaking hands. He stared at his feet trying to control his breathing and push the vivid nightmare from his mind. It was starting to become hard to tell a flashback from a nightmare. He jumped as he heard his bedroom door open. John froze at the sight, his hand still on the doorknob, trying to gauge how to approach the younger man.

"Sherlock, please talk to me." He begged as he took a seat next to him.

"I can't, you wouldn't understand."

"Really? I was an army doctor. I've seen dozens of people die, and I've been injured more than I can count. For god sakes I work at an ER, I see the trauma every day and i-i I saw you die in front of me." John felt slight guilt as Sherlock visibly flinched at his words. He continued anyway, "I think that maybe it's not that you don't think I understand, I think maybe it's that you won't let yourself understand."

Sherlock bowed his head in shame as he felt John's words of truth pelt his mind. "It doesn't matter, I deserve it… all of it." Sherlock looked at John watching his face for any sign of emotion. "For what I did to you, John… I'm forever sorry. The least I deserve is this, to live with these tiny scars and silly nightmares. I ruined our lives, I ruined us. If it wasn't for this little innocent being I would have-" he snapped his mouth shut.

John shifted away from him, "you would've done what?"

"I would've stayed dead."

Sherlock's eyes shot wide open as he felt John's hands roughly grab his dressing gown and pull him into a kiss. It was by no means romantic as their teeth bumped together painfully. Sherlock stilled as he allowed John to hold him. He was shocked as one of John's hands slid to caress his growing belly. He closed his eyes and took at the moment, trying not to cry with joy. He was again startled from his thoughts as John released him. As he opened his eyes again he saw John shaking and his eyes filled with panic.

"No, no, no! We can't do this again." John stammered as he moved to the other end of the bed.

Sherlock frowned, "you don't forgive me."

"No, of course, I forgive you, I just- what if you leave again? What if one of us gets hurt? What about our daughter? I can't do it again, I can't hurt like that ever again."

"I'm not going to leave and I don't plan on it for any reason, and I think maybe it's time for a temporary retirement. I don't care about the work, I don't care about anything but you and her. I don't know how else to tell you that." Sherlock was rambling desperation in his voice. He wanted to scream for John to stay and for them to once again share a bed.

John looked at him in confusion, "you'd do that? You'd give up your work?"

"Did you not hear me, John? I would do anything." Sherlock rolled his eyes. This time it was Sherlock who initiated a kiss. John shifted over him and deepened the kiss, careful of his stomach.

"You're such an arse sometimes," Sherlock smirked behind the kiss. "Oh please, you love it!"

John rolled away and crawled towards the middle of the bed, "you wanna have some fun?" John smiled as he pulled the younger man over him.

"Really, John? We're in our late 30s, not our early 20s"

"Oh shut up!" John silenced him with another kiss.

\---------------  
Sherlock grumbled as the sun pelted his eyelids. He reached down to pull the comforter over his eyes but found it held down by an arm. He instead turned and buried his head against his lover's chest. He felt John's other arm slide under him and pulled him closer. He sighed in contentment. Sherlock grumbled at the sound of the alarm clock, he reached over John and quickly turned off the phone.

"We should probably get up, I have to go to work." John's words were muffled in his curls.

"Call out."

"I can't, baby." Sherlock's heart fluttered at the endearment.

Sherlock and John both startled at the sound of the flat door opening. "Yoohoo, Boys I have scones!" Mrs. Hudson called.

"Fucking hell," Sherlock growled as he sat up. "One second Mrs. Hudson!" They then scrambled back into their clothes.

Sherlock pulled on his dressing gown and yanked open the door. He put on his best smile and gratefully took a scone from the table. John followed slowly, his eyes glued to the floor.

"I see you boys made up." Mrs. Hudson nearly laughed at their shocked expressions, "you aren't very quiet my dears."

"Our apologies Mrs. Hudson."

"It's no worries, just pipe down next time. I'm so glad to see you worked it out, my old heart couldn't take it anymore to see all this angst!" She left in a haste.

John took a scone, "I'm going to shower now."

"Alright." The doctor disappeared into the hall.

Sherlock wandered over to the couch and picked up his phone from where it was tossed on the floor. He turned it on and wasn't surprised by the influx of messages.

'Sherlock, stop being a child! -MH'

'People are in danger. -MH'

He sighed as he browsed the dozens of messages left by his older brother. The final message made his blood go cold.

'Moriarty's alive. He's looking for you, and he's looking for John. -MH'

Sherlock's eyes widened and immediately called Mycroft.

"Oh, Sherlock! For God's sake don't be a child and keep the phone on! I need you to leave tonight. We gotta end this." Mycroft's voice was filled with venom.

"What do you mean he's alive, and what do you expect me to do? I can't leave!"

"He's in Greenland, an outside source informed us. Pack a bag you need to be on that plane tonight."

"It's too dangerous, I can't risk my child. I can't risk losing John." Sherlock's voice dropped from annoyed to saddened.

"Sherlock, I promised you. I will protect you and your family but one else can do this." He heard Mycroft sigh deeply, and a glass on the other end roughly hit the table. "Please, he's planning something. Something big."

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, "Okay."

Sherlock stared at his phone, wondering how on Earth he was gonna tell John. He'd promised John less than twenty-four hours ago that he wouldn't leave again. If Sherlock was honest with himself he didn't think he could survive it again without his blogger, his best friend, and his partner. Sherlock pondered this for a while before a very obvious answer shot into his head. He would just bring John with him. He paced the flat waiting for John to appear from their bedroom. Twenty minutes later the older man walked into the living room still sliding on his jumper.

"Alright Sherlock, I'll see you tonight!" He pressed a gentle kiss to his lover's forehead. As John reached for his shoes by the door Sherlock grunted.

"Yes?"

"Moriarty is back," Sherlock explained simply as he slumped into his chair.

"Oh?" John stood still holding one shoe in his hand. "You're leaving then?" John's disappointment flared across his face, and his eyes filled with an emotion that Sherlock couldn't pinpoint.

"Yes, however, so are you." Sherlock smiled cheekily as John's shoe dropped from his hand.

"Is that so?" John walked behind Sherlock and placed his hands on his shoulders massaging them.

"Yep."

John sighed and moved to sit in his own chair. "I have a job, love. I can't just up and leave. Plus what about the baby, you're pregnant! You can't just run after a psychopath like that!"

Sherlock moved from his chair to sit on the leg of John's chair. "I know it's dangerous but he's coming for us, and he's planning something… please, John… I can't do this without you. I need you. I love you. We'll figure it out, I'll have Mycroft hold your job and we'll figure it out. Just please, please come with me." Sherlock rambled and at some point had grabbed John's hand and gripped it hard.

"Yes, okay, fine. You git, I can't do this without you either. When are we leaving?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

John and Sherlock sat in silence for a few moments while gears seemed to turn in John's head. "Are you alright, John?"

"Yes, I just- can we do something before we go?" John looked at Sherlock with uncertainty.

Sherlock gave him a look of confusion, "yes of course, what do you want to do darling?"

John stood from his chair, taking Sherlock with him. He gripped Sherlock in a suffocating hug. John leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "Marry me."


	6. Another Adventure Begins

Sherlock went still. "Wh-what?"

John laughed as he loosened his grip, "you heard me, let's go get married."

*You're serious? Are you sure?" Sherlock searched John's face for any signs of lying.

"Yes! We've technically been together for 2 years, we live together, and we're having a baby! I couldn't be more sure." John rubbed circles on his swollen stomach, "we'll never have to be apart again."

"I don't know… we got back together less than 15 hours ago and you wanna get married? After everything I did? You want to marry… me?" Sherlock was shaking in John's arms.

John reached up to run a hand through his soft curls. "You're a fool if you think I would feel any different. I know it's sudden, and sort of you know- random. It just feels like what we should do."

Sherlock smashed his lips against John's and held the older man's head between his hands. "Yes! Yes, let's get married!"

John let go and stepped back still smiling, "we need rings."

Sherlock shook his head, "no we don't, we just need each other."

His now fiance laughed, "I already have them."

Sherlock did a double-take, "what?"

John ran a hand through his graying hair. "Before you jumped I was going to ask you."

"Oh? No one even knew we were together."

"Yes, I was hoping that maybe you'd be willing to be open with everyone after I asked."

"John, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I ever felt that I had to hide what we had." Sherlock slowly sat back down.

"It's okay, it doesn't matter anymore! We're here together now. Come on, let's go we gotta get this done before tonight."

"You're okay without a wedding?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, I really really don't give a damn about a wedding. It's about us not about anyone else."

"I love you."

"And I love you. Now come on, in the shower now!" John playfully nagged.

\-----------------

Sherlock and John walked out of the church hand in hand. Sherlock walked with what was almost a skip in his step as he approached the curb. He admired his husband as John flagged down a cab. Luckily they got one within minutes. They hoisted the suitcases into the back before entering.

"How are you, Mr. Watson?" John asked as he snaked his fingers between Sherlock's.

"It's going to be hyphenated John." Sherlock huffed under his breath.

"Yes, but I like the sound of it." Sherlock brought his hand to his lap and examined the beautiful ring that was identical to the one on John's finger. "It's a bullet, it's actually made of the bullets you fired into the wall. I had them melted down and made into rings."

"You know Mycroft's gonna kill you right?" Sherlock laughed as he rested his hand on his stomach.

"You said yes, so you're coming down with me." Sherlock smiled in response before gazing out the window to watch the sunset. As the hour went by Sherlock suddenly burst into deep laughter. John glanced over and gave him an odd look, "Sherlock?"

"You have to admit, John that this is absolutely absurd! In less than a day we made up, got married, and now we're running off to go track down a criminal mastermind! To top it all off we're doing it with a baby on the way. This is insane, absolutely insane!"

"It's a little late for cold feet don't ya think?" John held a nervous look in his eyes.

"It's not cold feet, just surprise. I just never saw myself settling down and having a child." Sherlock admitted.

"We never expect anything in life, it just happens."

The cab driver pulled onto the tarmac and parked a few yards away from what was obviously Mycroft's private jet. Both men removed their bags from the back and walked over to where Mycroft stood leaning on his umbrella and texting on his phone. He scoffed as the younger men approached.

"Absolutely not." He stood straight and tapped his umbrella on the tarmac.

"No what?" Sherlock played dumb.

"Doctor Watson can not come with you. It's dangerous enough sending you. We can't have your doctor as a liability, Sherlock!"

"It's actually Doctor Watson-Holmes," Sherlock explained with a smirk. John stood close by staring nervously at the ground.

Mycroft's eyes hardened, "Sherlock, what did you do?" The younger brother lifted his hand to show his newly acquired wedding ring. "You are unbelievable, truly reckless! I can't believe you would do this! And you Doctor Watson-"

"Watson-Holmes" Sherlock interrupted.

"Shut the hell up, Sherlock!" Mycroft got closer to John and pointed a rough finger at his chest. "And you Doctor, I promise you that if you ever fuck this up I will make you very very very miserable!" Mycroft's face was red with rage.

Sherlock sensing John's fear grabbed his husband's hand and guided him away from Mycroft and onto the plane. Once John was seated Sherlock left the plane once again. Sherlock and Mycroft stared at each other for what felt like forever.

"Why would you do this?" Mycroft's face was now solemn.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock fidgeted with the ring as he looked towards the ground. "I love him."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock, look I'm just trying to protect you. This was incredibly impulsive and I just don't want this to become some sort of issue. I'm not okay with this, but I will support you, just like I'm supporting the incoming birth of my niece."

Sherlock looked up and nodded in understanding before walking up the stairs into the cabin. Halfway up the stairs, Mycroft called out to him, "congratulations by the way! Have fun explaining this to Greg!"

Sherlock ignored him. As he entered the cabin he was extremely surprised to see a Gregory Lestrade coming from the plane bathroom.

"Lestrade? What are you doing here?" Sherlock took a seat next to John who was busy with a crossword puzzle. John was cozied up next to the window with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"Mycroft told me you would need help," Lestrade explained as he took a seat in the aisle across from the two other men. "And he's paying me."

"Ah, I knew there was a catch!" John piped in, looking at Lestrade from over his glasses.

"So did you guys make up?"

"Uh, yeah you could say that." John nervously closed the crossword book. "We actually should probably tell you something before someone spills the beans for us." Sherlock looked at him with panic-filled eyes. John smiled and took his husband's hand in his own.

"Tell me what?" Lestrade squinted at the doctor.

"Me and Sherlock, we've been together for two years now, since our first case actually."

"Well, Sherlock told me you guys had a relationship a while back.” Lestrade scratched the stubble on his chin.

"Oh well, there's more…."

"There's more? I mean you already got him pregnant! What else could there be? What did you guys do? Elope?" Lestrade said jokingly but frowned as John seemed to flinch at the words.

"You didn't." Lestrade stared at the guilty expressions of the two other men, "you are mental, the both of you!"

"Are you gonna bitch and moan like Mycroft did, because if so please save your breath," Sherlock growled as he pushed a button on his seat that caused it to lean back.

Lestrade seemed taken back as he clamped his mouth shut and prepared for the plane to take off. "It's fine Greg, we expected the backlash." John opened his crossword book again.

"No- I'm happy for you, I am. I just don't want to ever see you boys hurt again because of each other. When did you guys tie the knot?”

Sherlock looked between John and Lestrade, “It’s been a few hours I suppose.”

“A few hours? So you guys just got married and drove here?”

“Yep.” Sherlock popped the p at the end.

“Well congratulations I guess, now if you don't mind I'm gonna enjoy some wine because I hate planes."

After several glasses of wine, Lestrade had promptly fallen asleep. Sherlock also succumbed to sleep after getting extremely bored watching John. John, however, was wide awake watching the clouds out of the window. He pondered the weather in Greenland and dreaded the freezing temperatures. He sipped slowly on his rum as he turned to watch his husband instead. Sherlock was shifting in his sleep twitching every so often. John set the glass on the table in front of him. He shifted closer to his husband and pulled the blanket from the seat below them. He laid it across both of them and cuddled closely.


	7. The Final Case

(Somewhere in the middle of Greenland)

"It's fucking freezing!" John complained as he carried their suitcases to the door of the cabin. He shivered as the wind licked his skin.

"It's Greenland." Sherlock was in a horrible mood since getting off the plane which made the two-hour drive to the cabin unbearable. The taller man opened the door and stomped in. He tossed his coat and the keys onto the table before crawling into bed. John followed slowly and dropped the suitcases onto the floor. The cabin was incredibly small containing only a small kitchen, two beds, a couch, a bathroom, and a table.

"What is wrong with you?" John asked as he took a seat at the table.

"I just don't feel good."

"Morning sickness?"

"Yes. Now please come to bed." Sherlock whined.

"Are you tired? We slept the whole ride."

Sherlock turned to glare at the doctor, "you try being pregnant, you prick."

"Okay, okay." John removed his shoes and climbed in the bed next to Sherlock.

"Do we have a plan, Sherlock?" John shifted so that he was facing his husband.

"I don't know- Mycroft didn't tell me anything besides the fact that he is here in Greenland. We'll just have to look around and see if he stirred up some noise." Sherlock groaned before flying out of the bed and into the small bathroom. John cringed at the sounds of retching.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John padded over to the bathroom to sit beside the younger man on the floor.

"Yes, I just can't imagine what this is gonna be like in four months." He leaned his head on John's shoulder.

"Well, in four months you'll have a baby."

"Imagine that John, a little tiny you and me around to occupy our days." Sherlock frowned, "this is our final case."

"It doesn't have to be."

"I think it does, John. We can't run around chasing criminals and getting shot at anymore. We have to be parents."

John laughed sadly, "odd how you're the reasonable one right now."

"Fatherhood I suppose. It's really no use fighting the truth, and the truth is our daughter comes first. I'll be bored for the rest of my life if it means she's safe." Sherlock straightened his back against the wall.

John felt oddly uneasy about the idea of a Sherlock without the work. John would never admit it but he would miss it too. They sat in silence for a few minutes before the door swung open. Lestrade had obviously been smoking as the smell wafted in by the wind and it held tight to his clothing. Lestrade tossed his bags onto the undisturbed bed and began unpacking.

John, always the doctor grunted as he stood, "no smoking, not this close to the cabin." John pointed to his husband who still leaned over the toilet retching, "not that close to him."

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. I just needed a quick one before we got started." Lestrade tossed several folders onto the table, papers spilling onto the stained wood.

John curiously stepped forward and began flipping through the closest folder. "So what do we know?"

"Moriarty has been spotted on a few cameras but not enough and not in a generalized area. There's been activity at three locations, some abandoned lighthouse, an old warehouse, and a dock. We can't say for sure that these are all connected but the vehicles seen leaving the areas all seem similar. We've also had two cases of petty theft including a mugging by a man who fits the description, and a gas station robbery." Lestrade explained as he removed pictures of the locations from one of the folders.

Sherlock finally stumbled from the bathroom and slowly sat down at one of the chairs.

John glanced over, "are you feeling better?"

"Yes, now shall we split up then? Cover all the ground, three locations, and three of us?"

John crossed his arms, "Sherlock no, it's too dangerous. Last time you saw that man alone you jumped off a hospital!"

"John, it's fine! He's too theatrical to do anything right away, he'll yap so long you'll have time to show up."

John sighed heavily, "fine, we'll all get some sleep tonight and we'll figure out where to go tomorrow."

Soon all three men had eaten and made their way to bed. Lestrade had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. John had finished showering and walked out of the bathroom. He climbed into bed next to Sherlock who was turned away from him facing the wall.

John shrugged before throwing an arm across his husband's chest and cuddling closer. "You are way too lanky for this." He whispered into his ear.

"Go to sleep, John." Sherlock's raspy voice responded.

"I don't think I can."

Sherlock grumbled, "why?"

"I'm worried about you."

"John, it will be fine. I promise. Now please go to sleep before I kick you to the couch."

"Okay, okay! I forgot how grumpy you are when you're tired."

John stared at the ceiling for the next hour before Sherlock flipped over. "I know you're worried. I am too. But I know deep down that I have my doctor and one of the best police officers in London with me. That helps some." Sherlock pressed a light kiss onto the shorter man's nose.

"I suppose that's true. I've got the smartest man in all of England with me who just so happens to be my best friend."

\------------  
Right after the fall

John stumbled into Baker Street smelling heavily like a distillery. His face was red from the tears and his fist was bloody from his abuse on the alley dumpster. As he opened the door he found Mrs. Hudson patiently awaiting him. John cringed as he realized what he was about to tell her.

"John, are you drunk?" She sniffed the air around him, "good lord, you smell awful!" She looked at his puffy eyes and her anger subsided, "what's wrong John? Where's Sherlock?" John's eyes filled with tears again at the mention of his name.

"Mrs. Hudson- I, I don't know how to tell you this."

"Did you boys have a row?" She crossed her arms impatiently.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, he's gone."

She gave him a confused look, "gone where dear?"

"He's dead." John spat feeling the sadness suffocate him.

"John, no I don't believe that! Not for one second! This is a cruel joke now where is he?" She yelled as tears gathered in her own eyes.

"It's true, Mrs. Hudson! I saw it with my own eyes! He jumped- he left us…" John devolved into sobs.

"Oh, John!" Mrs. Hudson pulled him into a hug and they both cried for their loss. She gently ran her shaking hands through his hair as he openly cried into her shoulder.

"I wasn't enough for him!" He screamed, "I thought I could love him enough, I thought he loved me enough!"

Mrs. Hudson pulled him back to look into his eyes, "sometimes dear our demons are too big for even the strongest. I don't think that ever meant he didn't love you."

"It isn't fair." He whimpered, "I need him."

\----------------  
Now

Sherlock woke up in a cold sweat. The cabin was still completely dark. He relaxed as he felt John’s arm around his stomach, his hand gently sitting on his growing bump. He reached down to interlock his fingers with John’s. He caressed his wedding band, assuring himself that it was definitely not a dream. Slowly he slid from under his husband's arm and quietly moved towards the door. He threw on his jacket and shoes while glancing over at the beds to ensure both Lestrade and John were asleep. When he was sure he reached into Lestrade’s coat and removed the pack of cigarettes and lighter and shoved the items into his own coat.

Just one. He needed just one.

He slowly exited the cabin and sat beside the door so that he was unseen from the windows. He reached into his pocket and removed the items. He removed a cigarette from the pack, flicked open the lighter and stuck the cigarette between his lips before lighting it. Just as he was about to take a deep drag the door opened. He jumped at the sound.

Lestrade clicked the door closed behind himself. Sherlock could see in his eyes that he was also looking for release. “Give me it,” Lestrade demanded in a sharp whisper as he held his hand out. Sherlock surrendered and dropped the pack and lighter into the D.I.’s hand with a stubborn scoff. “What the hell are you doing?” Lestrade asked as he ripped the cigarette from the detective’s fingers. Lestrade stepped to the other side of Sherlock and sat beside him.

“I just wanted one,” Sherlock admitted.

“That’s not what I asked, Sherlock.” The D.I. took a drag from the cigarette, causing Sherlock to give him an odd look. “What? I’m not going to waste it.”

“John’s worried.” Sherlock leaned his head back against the worn wood. “I think maybe I am too.”

“Worried about Moriarty?”

“Yeah, he’s worried I’m going to get hurt, that the baby is going to get hurt.”

“That’s reasonable. What are you worried about then?”

Sherlock stared forward looking out at the sea, “that he’ll leave.”

Lestrade took another puff and scoffed causing smoke to run from his nose. “Why would he leave? He’s stayed this long, and he married you.”

Sherlock laughed, “he’s just doing what he thinks is right. He’s just staying for the baby. Once she’s born he’ll come to his senses.”

“Then why did you marry him if you think he’s going to leave?”

“I don’t know, okay! He asked me. I just got caught up and we just did it.” Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself.

“Sherlock, I’ve been alive long enough to know what love looks like. I wouldn’t worry too much. I don’t think he would ever do that.” Lestrade rubbed the end of the cigarette onto a near-by rock before getting up with a grunt. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just need a few minutes.” Sherlock looked guilty for a second, “Greg, please don’t tell John about the cigarette .”

“Fine, but if I catch you again, I'm kicking your arse. Now hurry up and get back to bed soon we have a criminal to catch tomorrow." Lestrade quietly entered the cabin.

Sherlock shivered as the wind picked up again. He hoped Lestrade was right about John. Without John, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be Sherlock either. He looked up at the stars and appreciated how incredibly bright they seemed without the presence of London's lights. After a few minutes of breathing the wintery air, he lifted himself off the ground while supporting the bump. He entered the cabin and tossed the coat over the back of one of the chairs. He removed his shoes and got back into bed. As he pulled the covers back over himself he was immediately pulled against John.

"Are you alright babe?" John's voice was heavy with sleep.

"Yes, I just needed some air," Sherlock explained. John seemed to accept this answer and went back to cuddling his shivering husband.

"I love you," John whispered as he drifted off to sleep.


	8. It's Not a Game

"Are you ready?" Lestrade asked as he holstered his gun.

Sherlock nodded as he finished reading the files once more. John zipped up his coat and was checking the safety on his own weapon. Lestrade walked over to one of his various bags and removed another gun. He returned and held it out to Sherlock who looked confused. “You need a gun. If we’re going to split up everyone needs their own protection.” Sherlock groaned dramatically and took the gun from the outstretched hand.

“Alright, I’m heading to the docks,” John stated as he moved towards the door. He looked back at Sherlock, “be careful, Sherlock.”

“Always, John.” He replied as the older man left.

Lestrade looked sad for a moment as he noted Sherlock’s tired eyes, “I have to go now, the cab’s almost here. Are you sure you'll be fine alone?"

"Yes, stop worrying. We'll all be fine." Sherlock stood and began making hand motions for Lestrade to leave.

"Okay, okay!"

\------------  
Lestrade's Location: Warehouse

Lestrade waited for half an hour outside of the building waiting to see if vehicles arrived. After there was none Lestrade entered quietly through an unlocked side door. The warehouse was almost completely empty except for an old truck and stacks of crates. He snuck behind a crate and listened for any sign of life. He advanced further after not hearing anything. He continued to duck behind items as he made his way towards the middle of the warehouse. He cringed as he stepped on a random screw that scraped the concrete beneath. Feeling quite confident that there was no one in the building he began simply walking around with his gun held tight in front of him. He jumped as his phone vibrated in his coat pocket. He answered it and was met with absolute hysteria.

"G-Greg? Please help, please get here now!" The voice on the other end sobbed.

"What's going on?"

"He's been shot!" The voice screamed.

"Oh fuck, I'm coming, I'm coming right now!" Lestrade sprinted out the door.

\------------  
Sherlock's Location: Abandoned Lighthouse

Sherlock strutted down the gravel path with his hands shoved into his coat pockets. He buttoned his coat to hide his bump should an enemy see him. He glanced around to see if anyone was parked nearby. Seeing nothing he stomped up the stairs. He tried the door but found it stubbornly locked. He pulled his lockpick from his coat before fiddling with the door.

"Aha!" He praised himself as it swung open. "Oh how dreadfully boring." He kicked at a pebble on the ground. The little area contained nothing but photos on the walls. He looked up the stairs and sighed in frustration.

"That's definitely not happening." He decided instead of walking up the stairs to just shout, "Hello? Any irritating criminals here?" Hearing nothing in response he turned to leave the building. As he made his way back down the path his phone dinged and he pulled it out to look at the message.

'I think he's here. -JW'

Sherlock smiled to himself, 'finally some excitement. -SH'

\-----------  
John's Location: The Docks

John hid behind a shipping container as he watched two black vans arrive. John grew confused after several minutes of no one exiting the cars. He understood why when a third car arrived. It was a basic town car, blue, incredibly dirty and worn down. John peered around the container as he heard the sound of several car doors opening. He held back a gasp as the one and only Jim Moriarty got out of the town car. The other four men stood in a straight line as Moriarty began talking. John strained to hear but he was just too far away. Suddenly the talking turned to a scream causing John to flinch a bit. The voice confirmed what he already knew. He removed his phone and texted Sherlock.

'I think he's here. -JW'

'Finally some excitement! -SH'

He leaned against the shipping container and watched the entrance to the docks waiting for Sherlock to arrive.

In the following ten minutes, he listened to the distant yelling from Moriarty. He was getting quite sick of hearing his voice already. He breathed a sigh of relief as Sherlock came walking onto the docks. His husband gave him a cheeky smile as he continued past him walking up to the vans in plain sight. He hissed from his position "what the hell are you doing?" Sherlock turned, shrugged and continued walking. John groaned before running after him. Moriarty froze as he heard the approaching footsteps.

"Oh, Sherlock- I wasn't expecting you quite yet!" He spun around. Moriarty's henchmen all pulled out weapons and aimed them at the two Intruders. "You brought your little puppy, how cute!" His voice went higher as he spoke. Sherlock removed the gun from his pocket and aimed it between Moriarty's eyes.

Moriarty rolled his eyes in disinterest, "really Sherlock, I thought we were passed this?"

"The game ends now."

"What are you gonna do? Shoot me?" He laughed, it sounded too much like the cry of a hyena.

"I'd prefer a slower method but this works too," Sherlock replied. Moriarty observed his hand and his laughing ceased.

"Oh did little Sherlock get married?" Moriarty took a brave step closer. "Who would be insane enough to love you, let alone marry you?" He taunted.

"Someone was," Sherlock replied shortly, not interested in having this conversation.

Moriarty looked at John and back at Sherlock, "oh Sherlock, I see now! You married the blogger!" He laughed harder. Sherlock fired a warning shot into the sky. "Alright! You wanna talk business, let's talk business."

Sherlock growled, "I don't wanna talk, I just wanna kill you."

"Then do it? Why are you just aiming at me?" Moriarty put his hands up in surrender.

"As much as I want to, it's in my best interest to have you arrested."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, John, call Lestrade."

As John reached into his pocket a shot rang out. Sherlock was startled causing his own gun to fire. His eyes filled with shock as he watched Moriarty fall to the floor with a loud thump. Moriarty cursed loudly as he held his bleeding leg. Sherlock turned his eyes towards the four other men, one of which held a smoking gun. Sherlock fired several shots in their direction causing them to scatter from the area. Sherlock pocketed the gun and turned back to Moriarty. "I guess I'll have to explain this later," Sherlock spoke mostly to himself. He noticed Moriarty smiling as the injured man stared directly beside Sherlock.

"John?" Sherlock was confused to find John no longer standing next to him but slumped to the ground. Sherlock panicked as he realized the first shot fired had hit him. Blood was flowing down John's face from a wound on the side of his head. Sherlock quickly dropped to his knees and removed his jacket. He began holding pressure to his head. He gently moved John so that the doctor's head was resting in his lap.

"' lock?" John slurred heavily as he looked up. "What's goin' on?"

"It's fine, it's just a little blood is all. You're gonna be fine." Sherlock didn't realize he was crying until the blood on John's face was becoming mixed with tears. He reached for the phone dropped by John and dialed for Lestrade.

"G-Greg? Please help, please get here now!" Sherlock cried into the phone.

"What's going on?" Lestrade's voice dripped with concern.

"He's been shot!" He screamed.

"Oh fuck, I'm coming, I'm coming right now!" Sherlock breathed in relief and tossed the phone aside.

Sherlock's once blue coat was caked in crimson blood, along with his pants and shirt. He used one hand to hold the coat to the wound and the other to grip his husband's hand. He was shaking as he listened to John's labored breathing. "Hey, it's gonna be okay, I swear you're gonna make it!" Sherlock wasn't sure he was saying the words for John or for himself.

John gave him a dopey look, "hey Sherlock, I love you."

Sherlock shook his head and gripped the hand harder, "don't say that to me right now, not now." John closed his eyes causing Sherlock to gently shake him, “Don’t go to sleep just keep talking to me.”

“‘m not sleepin’ just closin’ my eyes…”

Sherlock let out a loud sob, “John, give me names.” He choked.

“What?”

“Baby names, give me baby names!” The younger man used this to keep John talking.

John seemed to ponder this for a few seconds, “Mya, Mya Grace.”

Sherlock laughed through his tears, “That’s her name then. Now tell me why.”  
John shook his head, “‘lock, I’m tired.”

Sherlock shook his head in response, “please don’t go to sleep. Please, stay.” Sherlock growled in frustration as John seemed to lose consciousness.

"It's all part of the game Sherlock." Moriarty's condescendingly annoying voice grated his ears.

“Just shut up!” Sherlock yelled. "It's not a game!" His brain seemed to short circuit for a moment. " …. It was never a game…. It's my fault?" He whispered to himself as he held John tighter. Sherlock held tightly to John’s wrist feeling his fading heartbeat and sobbed as he realized that John was no longer breathing.

It seemed like hours passed before he could hear the faint sound of arriving police cars and an ambulance. He let out a sigh of relief as he watched Lestrade sprint down to where they were. The D.I. fell to his knees beside John and Sherlock.

“Oh god, Sherlock what happened?” He asked as he motioned for the emergency responders to come to the area.

“It’s my fault.” Sherlock whimpered, not answering the question. Lestrade slowly removed Sherlock’s hands from the doctor and helped move him so that Sherlock could stand and allow the emergency responders to begin working. Sherlock was shaking as someone draped a heavy blanket over his shoulders. Lestrade walked with him to sit on the back of the ambulance.

“Sherlock, I need you to tell me what happened.”

Sherlock didn’t respond and his eyes seemed far away, “Sherlock, say something?”

“He’s gone and it’s my fault.” Sherlock felt numb as he watched the responders try to reanimate his husband.

Lestrade was about to respond but was interrupted by two responders who began examining the detective. He stepped back and observed the situation around him. He nearly cried with joy when he heard someone shout, “We have a heartbeat!” His relief was short-lived as he suddenly heard the angry screaming of Sherlock.

"I'll kill you! I swear to god I'll fucking kill you!" Lestrade nearly missed Sherlock as the younger man ran towards Moriarty. Lestrade locked him in a tight hug as he continued to fight against him. "Let me go right now! He's dead, because of him!"

"Sherlock, stop it!" Lestrade yelled, it only seemed to piss him off further.

"I want him dead!"

"You're hurting the baby, please stop!"

Sherlock froze in his arms, once Lestrade was sure that he was calm he let go. The detective stared Moriarty dead in the eyes, "I'm coming for you. Maybe not today, but I will kill you."

Lestrade's mouth dropped as he watched Sherlock reach into his pocket and hand Lestrade back the gun. Lestrade stood in shock as Sherlock walked away from the docks and disappeared.

After his shock wore off he immediately arrested Moriarty and roughly handed him off to the workers of a second ambulance.


	9. Waiting

4 months later

Sherlock grunted as he lowered himself into the uncomfortable plastic chair beside John's bed. Today he would read him The Hobbit. He hoisted his feet up to rest on the edge of John's bed as he opened the book over his swollen stomach. He was about two chapters in when Lestrade entered the room.

"Hey John, how are you?" Lestrade asked as he took a seat on the other side of the hospital bed. Sherlock didn't understand why Lestrade always greeted John, it wasn't like he could respond anyways. "How are you?" This time the question was pointed at Sherlock.

"Uncomfortable. She won't stop kicking my kidney." He complained as he closed the book and set it aside.

"I mean she's coming any day now, she's probably just antsy." Sherlock's face dropped at his words. "He's gonna wake up."

Sherlock looked seriously unconvinced, "it's been four months, Lestrade."

"The doctors say he'll wake up when he's ready. We just have to be patient."

"I don't know and even if he does wake up what’s he going to be like? We won’t know half the extent of the damage until then.” Sherlock’s voice was beginning to tremble.

Lestrade felt bad for the other man. He knew that Sherlock visited St. Bart's every single day since John was airlifted from Greenland. In the fourth month of John's coma, they were still just waiting for his eyes to open. The doctors had carefully removed the bullet and they said that the coma was a result of John's body healing from the stress and the trauma. Lestrade found it harder when he came to visit each week, to watch Sherlock read to him, and talk to him. You could almost be convinced he was only sleeping if it wasn’t for the large wrap around his head, the tubes, and the severe weight loss.

“I know it’s hard to keep hope, but we have to. You know John would kill me if he saw the state of you.”

“The state of me?”

“Sherlock, you’ve been coming here every day when you should be at home resting. I rarely see you eat, and Mrs. Hudson tells me you don’t sleep often either.”

“Okay, first of all, the last two are not uncommon. Second, I will be here every day until he wakes up, and that’s a promise.” Sherlock’s face was beginning to tense in anger.

“I know I can’t stop you, but please at least go home. You’ve been here all day.” Sherlock grunted as Lestrade got up to leave. “I’m telling you, Sherlock, he’s gonna wake up.” Lestrade didn’t wake for a response before leaving.

Sherlock stood from the chair in a slow dramatic fashion. He leaned over John to give him a soft peck on the cheek. He hissed as a pain in his stomach brought him back into his chair. “Damn, stupid Braxton hicks.” He stood as the pain faded, he looked at John and a sudden frustration overcame him. “You better wake up, I can’t do this without you,” He laughed lightly, “imagine me trying to care for a baby by myself. Just please, come back.” Sherlock gave him a pat on the arm before leaving.

As he waddled down the hallway Molly ran up to him, her eyes bright as always. “How’s John today?”

Sherlock sighed, “He’s the same as he’s been.”

Molly smiled at him. “I think he’ll wake up soon, his scans this week looked really promising!”

Sherlock frowned, “at least one of us does.”

Molly lifted a hand to slap him but retracted her arm, "don't say that, he's going to wake up!" He hissed at him.

Sherlock shrugged as he walked away. "That's what you all say."

\--------------  
Sherlock groaned as he finally made it up the steps to his flat and into the kitchen. He smiled as he noticed Mrs. Hudson had left him a plate of pasta in the fridge with a note.

'I went to my sisters for the night, call if you need me'

He popped the plate into the microwave and leaned against the counter. It was bizarre how cold the flat felt without John's presence. It could almost be classified as abandoned as nothing in the living room had changed besides Sherlock's armchair that was covered in blankets to deal with his damn hot and cold flashes. It was almost comical that their bags were still sitting untouched in the doorway. It was almost a testament to his new routine. Everyday Sherlock woke up at seven sometimes earlier if the nightmares were especially bad. He would eat a bagel, drink a glass of milk, shower, and go to the hospital. After spending all day at the hospital he would come home, eat whatever Mrs. Hudson left, and watch telly till he felt tired enough to fall asleep. Oddly enough this didn't bore him. He was far too gone to even enjoy the other things in life.

He removed the plate from the microwave and brought it to his armchair. He groaned as another pain spread across his belly, he ignored it and went ahead to turn on the TV. He took a few bites of the pasta and suddenly felt oddly ill and set it on the side table. Eventually, late into the night, his eyes grew heavy, he grabbed some water waddled into his bedroom. He set his water on the nightstand and began opening several of the medicine bottles. Some were vitamins, one was for sleep, and another was to help his PTSD.

About a month after John's accident (what Molly and Lestrade called it), Sherlock's nightmares had grown substantially worse to the point where he would have auditory hallucinations and frequent panic attacks. At the insistence of Lestrade and Molly he had gone to see a doctor who had prescribed him the meds, and a therapist. He never saw the therapist as it took away his time to see John.

After swallowing the pills he rolled into bed and shoved a pillow underneath his stomach to get comfortable on his side. He stared at John's empty side of the bed, his pillow untouched. He missed his snoring. The longer he stared at the pillow the more the ring on John's nightstand seemed to shine. Sherlock growled in disgust at his own sad thoughts and flipped over to sleep facing the wall instead. He drifted off into sleep fairly quickly.

It was about three in the morning when he was startled from his sleep by an incredibly sharp pain. He sat up curling over himself as he rode out the wave of hurt. He was confused for a moment as he realized that it was not the same pain from before. He immediately threw himself out of bed and waddled towards the living room. He grabbed his phone off the kitchen table before planting himself on the couch. He decided to sit and wait to see if the pain came again before actually calling anyone. He sat rubbing gentle circles on his belly for a while feeling calm when the baby would kick at his touch. Sherlock grunted loudly as the cramp returned with a vengeance after about twenty minutes he could feel the muscles in his stomach tense. This sent him into a panic. He dialed Lestrade hoping that he was working a night shift, if not he really didn’t care anyway.

“Come on, come on, pick up!” he yelled as the phone began ringing. He breathed a sigh of relief after the third ring when he finally picked up.

“Sherlock, what’s going on? It’s like four in the morning.” Lestrade’s raspy voice carried through the speaker.

“I’m in labor! I’m sorry but the cabs don’t run this late on a Monday!”

“Oh Jesus, I'm coming! Meet me outside in five.” Lestrade hung up quickly without a response.

Sherlock grabbed his shoes and hurried down the stairs. He neglected to turn off any lights, or lock the door. He hurried into the passenger seat as soon as the police cruiser pulled up. Lestrade’s hair was all over the place and he was dressed in sweatpants, an old t-shirt, and his slippers.

“You have terrible timing, you know that?” Lestrade turned on the lights as he sped down the street.

“I’m sorry! I can’t tell a baby when not to come!” Sherlock yelled back.

Sherlock and Lestrade rode in silence the rest of the way. Once they made it to the hospital Lestrade raced to the other side of the car and assisted the younger man through the doors. As they entered the building Sherlock was immediately surrounded by nurses and led into a wheelchair and down the hall. Lestrade went to follow but was stopped by a nurse.

"Are you the father, or immediate family?"

"No, I'm his friend! Please let me go with him, he needs me!" Lestrade begged.

"I'm sorry sir, but we can't let anyone who is not family past the doors." The nurse explained as she pointed towards the waiting room.

Lestrade sighed and went to sit in one of the chairs. Once he sat down he pulled out his phone to call someone else. It didn't take long for him to answer.

"Hello?" Mycroft sounded confused at the late-night call.

"It's happening."

"What? What's happening? Greg, are you drunk?"

"No, My, the baby! The baby is coming!"

He heard a thump from the other line, "okay I'm coming I'll be there in a few. How is he doing? Can I talk to him?"

"No, I'm sorry they won't let me go back with him."

"Of course, I'll deal with it." Mycroft hung up. Greg busied himself for a few minutes by reading the magazines placed on the table in front of then. They were all boring or torn to shreds. He jumped as he heard his name called by the nurse from earlier.

"Sir, right this way." Greg nodded and followed silently. It must've been Mycroft who did this.

Lestrade slowly opened the door, a bit terrified of the sight. Sherlock had been stripped of all his clothes and they were replaced by a grey hospital gown. He was laying on his side, sweating profusely but appeared to be asleep. Lestrade approached him and ran his fingers through his black curls. Sherlock's eyes shot up and he looked startled.

"Greg? They said you couldn't come in."

"Yeah well, your brother is scary."

"So he thinks."

Lestrade jumped as Sherlock grabbed his wrist and clenched his eyes closed. Lestrade held back a whimper of pain as he felt the bones in his wrist rub together. After what felt like forever Sherlock released his arm.

"Sorry, contraction. I didn't think they would be this bad!" He complained.

Lestrade rubbed his wrist and stepped back, "it's fine, really. My ex-wife was worse during her labor. Trust me you're doing good."

Sherlock gave him a funny look, "you have kids?"

Greg gave him a sad look, "had- but you know life happens."

The conversation didn't continue because Mycroft rushed through the door. More disheveled than Lestrade had seen him before, even worse than after their midnight hook-ups. Sherlock seemed to actually relax at the sight of his older brother.

"How are you doing?" Mycroft asked as he approached the bed.

"As well as expected. The nurses said they're taking me into the operating room soon."

Mycroft nodded, "good, I'll make sure you get the good stuff."

They sat with Sherlock for another thirty minutes before the nurses came. They released the wheels on the bed and began rolling him down the hall. Greg and Mycroft followed behind. As they reached the operating theatre Mycroft was stopped by Molly who was sprinting down the hall.

"Mycroft, he's awake." She whispered.

Mycroft's eyes shot wide open and he grabbed Greg who was standing just inside the operating room. "Greg, go to John. I'll stay with Sherlock."

"What, why?"

"John's awake, now go!" He motioned him away.

Lestrade nodded and followed Molly to the other side of the hospital. Mycroft sighed in relief as he entered the room. Sherlock was separated from the sight of his own stomach with some type of curtain. As the older Holmes came to stand beside him he noticed Sherlock was silently crying.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" Mycroft grabbed a hand and gently rubbed his knuckles.

"I want John. I wish he was here, he should be here." Sherlock sobbed.

"We all want him here, but he's healing so he can come back to you," Mycroft explained with comfort that he didn't often show. The elder Holmes suddenly felt oddly nauseous as he watched the surgeon's set up their sterile instruments.

"Sherlock, are you sure you're okay with me here because I can leave or go get Greg instead." Mycroft offered him an escape.

"No, please stay." Mycroft nodded. He was surprised when a chair was scooted up behind him. He looked back to see a surgeon giving him an encouraging look.

"This is a fairly painful procedure, it would be best if you stayed. Family is important during these times. However, we do need you to put on scrubs before we begin."

\---------------  
Lestrade had made it to John's room and was standing outside with his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath as he opened the door and put on his best smile.

"Oh John, Sherlock's going to be so happy to see you!"

John gave him a weird look, "Sherlock? Sherlock's dead, Greg."

Lestrade pondered what to say before sitting in a chair next to the bed. "I think I'm gonna go get a doctor for you. I think it would be best for them to explain this."

"Is it that bad?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm getting a doctor." Lestrade vanished before John could interrogate him further. He quickly found a young blonde woman who he recognized as John's doctor, Mary Morstan.

"Is that normal?" Lestrade asked as he approached her where she stood writing on a clipboard.

"Is what normal?" She dropped her arms to her side and gave him a confused look.

"The memory loss?"

"Ah, yes. Unfortunately, it does happen. It's normally temporary, however."

Lestrade rubbed at his chin in frustration, "okay, well can you go explain it to him because I can't do it. He can't even remember at least the last 7-8 months. I think he will understand it better coming from a medical professional."

"Yes of course." She wandered off into the direction of John's room.

Lestrade called after her, "please don't mention his husband. It's a touchy subject." She nodded in understanding.

\--------------  
Lestrade ran into Mycroft as he was making his way back down the hallway to the operating room. Mycroft was sulking as his clothing was far too out of character for him.

"My, we have a problem."

"What's that?"

"John still thinks Sherlock's dead."

Mycroft sighed, "we'll figure it out later. Just put these on and let's go." Mycroft held out the second set of scrubs. "Greg, do not mention John's awake. Now is not a good time."


	10. Baby Steps

Sherlock stirred awake slowly and gasped out in pain as he opened his eyes to the darkness of the room. He was startled as he felt someone’s hands on him. He batted the hands away as he couldn’t see who it was in the darkness.

“Sherlock, calm down!” He heard Molly’s soft voice. “Are you in pain?”

“Yes!” He hissed.

“Okay, here’s the morphine button.” She slid the button into his hand and flicked on the lights of the room.

“Where’s my baby?” He asked as he felt the effects of the drugs starting to seep into his system.

Molly smiled, “She’s okay, they have her with the other newborns for monitoring. She was having a little trouble breathing, but she’ll be fine.”

“Can I see her?”

“In a bit, you need to rest.” Sherlock nodded as she left.

He lifted the blanket to assess the damage and was mildly disturbed by the long row of stitches that laid across his stomach.

\------------  
Mycroft and Greg stood on the edges of the hallway as they watched John slowly make his way down the hall with the assistance of Doctor Morstan. As John reached the end of the hall he fell heavily into the wheelchair. Lestrade stepped forward to roll him back into his room.

“You’re doing great John, it’s been a day and you’ve already made so much progress.” Lestrade and Mycroft helped him back into bed. John still had a white bandage wrapped around his head, and he looked incredibly tired.

“It’s just frustrating to feel this weak, and I can’t even remember anything.”

Mycroft sat in on the chairs next to him, “actually, John we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Sherlock, John. He’s alive.”

“Get the fuck out,” John growled as he pointed towards the door. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

“John, I’m sorry. It’s all so much to explain and I think some of it would be best heard from Sherlock himself.”

John threw his arms in the air dramatically, “then tell me where he is! Bring him to me!”

“I can’t- he’s preoccupied at the moment.”

“This is sick. You’re both so screwed in the head!” John was screaming at this point.

Lestrade stepped forward to grab Mycroft by the arm, “Come on My, let’s go. Let him settle down for a bit.” Mycroft nodded before standing to leave.

“Yes, please get out and don’t come back!”

“John, please we’ve all had a rough few months,” Lestrade explained as he protectively stood in front of the older Holmes.

“A rough few months? I’ve had a rough few months! I just woke up from a coma after being shot in the head, and no one will tell me how or why!”

Mycroft sighed and stepped beside Lestrade, “you want to have this conversation now?”

“Yes, yes I do.” John crossed his arms stubbornly.

“Sherlock came back six months ago, and you got shot during a case in Greenland because Moriarty is also alive. Does that answer your questions because out of respect for my little brother I can’t tell you anything more.” Mycroft smirked at his shocked expression before leaving. Lestrade shrugged before following.

“My, did you really have to do that?”

“Yep, he was being a prick.”

“He just woke up from a coma, what do you expect?”

Mycroft stopped walking to look at Greg, "I don't even know what we're going to do. How do we explain this to him? Oh, by the way, Sherlock was pregnant, and now you have a baby. Oh, also you're married! There is also telling Sherlock that John's awake, which we haven't even done yet!" Mycroft was clearly starting to panic.

"Calm down, it'll work itself out, and John will remember eventually." Greg leaned over and gave Mycroft a light kiss.

“I suppose you’re right, now come on let’s go tell Sherlock before he figures it out for himself.”

\-------------  
John stared angrily at his plate and pushed the food around as he waited for a nurse or someone to come see him. He pushed his food aside and grabbed the remote for the tv from beside him. He paused for a second when a book beside him caught his eye. He set the remote on his lap and reached for the book instead. He ran a hand over the tattered cover before flipping open the cover. In the cover in messy letters, clearly written by a young child was William Sherlock Scott Holmes. He flipped to where the book was marked by a folded piece of paper. He jumped as the door creaked open, Dr. Morstan entered the room.

She noted the book in his hands, “you know he sat with you every day?”

“Who sat with me?” John already knew the answer but asked anyway.

“Sherlock, he’s the tall man with the black hair, right?”

John felt numb at the realization that Mycroft and Greg were indeed telling the truth. "Yeah, that would be him."

"It's good that you have him, I'm sure he'll be very excited to see your progress. Anyways, your tests all came back great and I'm counting on you being able to go home by the end of the week." He smiled brightly.

"That's good I suppose…"

"You don't seem very happy?"

"It's just hard not having these memories that everyone else has. I feel like I'm part of one big joke." He admitted.

"They'll come back, John. The human brain works in odd ways, but I have faith." She smiled again before leaving the room.

John's focus went back to the book in his hands. He removed the piece of paper and placed the book on his lap. He carefully unfolded it, curious as to what was on it. He laughed as he realized it was a childhood photo of Sherlock and Mycroft.

\---------------  
Sherlock was tiredly watching the telly when a nurse rolled in a plastic crib. He suddenly felt very awake when she reached in to grab the baby. He shifted so that he was sitting up, cringing a bit at the pull on his stitches.

"Are you ready to meet your daughter?" The nurse asked with a smile that was almost uncomfortably large. Sherlock nodded unable to find the words. She carefully placed the baby in his arms before leaving him to spend time with his new family.

Sherlock looked down in awe as her eyes fluttered open. Her eyes were grey much like John's but the little hair he could see from under her pink cap was black. He traced her cheek with his index finger, surprised at how amazingly soft her pale skin was. He moved his finger down to allow her to grip onto it and laughed a little as it seemed to make her smile. He gazed down at her for a while before Mycroft and Greg came in. They didn't say anything as they took quiet steps forward, unsure of how to approach the bed. It was Greg who took the first step closer to peer into the little blanket.

"Does she have a name yet?" Greg asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Mya Grace."

Mycroft's face lit up with a warm smile, "that's quite sentimental of you, little brother."

"Um, John thought of it. I suppose it was only right to honor you and Greg after supporting us through this." Sherlock offered Mya to Greg who loved kids and took the chance to hold her with joy.

"Speaking of John… he woke up yesterday." Mycroft stepped back as he watched his brother begin to comprehend his words.

He opened his mouth to yell but remembered the baby in the room, "he what? I have to go see him now!" He began standing while untangling the IV lines from around him. Mycroft grabbed his arm before he could finish standing and gently pushed him back down.

"Sherlock, you can't. Not right now."

"Why not?"

"He didn't remember you were alive, and he's pretty pissed at you."

"Then I'll just go talk to him!"

"Wait. I'm telling you to wait. Let him come to you. He's being released at the end of the week. Greg and I will take Mya for a few days so that you can get adjusted to each other again."

"No way, I just had her, she needs to be with me!" Sherlock pouted and made childish grabby hands towards his daughter. Greg sighed and handed her back.

"Sherlock, we can't throw everything on him at once. We have to ease him into it. If we expose him to Mya now he's going to panic, and be even more pissed.”

Sherlock looked sadly down at his daughter's tired eyes, “You’re right.” he spread his hand over her chest feeling her fast little heartbeat. The three of them stayed in silence just admiring the baby. Sherlock suddenly looked up from Mya and glared at Mycroft. “You and Greg.”

“What?” The elder Holmes gave him a weird look.

“That’s what you said, ‘Greg and I’” Sherlock’s eyes softened and he went back to looking at his daughter, “I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out till now. It all makes quite a lot of sense now. Why Greg was surprisingly nice when I came back from the dead, why he came to Greenland, and why you both always arrive places within minutes of each other. So when did this happen?”

Mycroft looked at him and rolled his eyes, “after the fall, we spent a lot of time together. There really isn’t much to it I'm afraid.”

Lestrade stood from where he was sitting on the side of the bed and moved to stand next to Mycroft. “Well, I guess we better get going and go see John before visiting hours end. We’ll be back to get you tomorrow.”

\--------------  
John was lightly dozing when Lestrade and Mycroft entered his room. “Hey, John. We just wanted to stop by before we head home.” Lestrade explained noticing that John wasn’t truly asleep.

“Why hasn’t Sherlock come?” He asked in a solemn voice that the other two men weren’t expecting.

Mycroft crept forward, “he’s at baker street, preparing for your return. Trust me he would be here if he could, the last few months have been very trying for all of us.”

“Oh.” John sounded slightly more awake now.

“Trust me, Doctor Watson, we are all very glad you are with us.”


	11. John Knows (Again)

One week later

John made his way slowly up the stairs with Lestrade following closely behind. It felt oddly bizarre being home after what was supposedly a very long time. As he reached the door he felt Lestrade grab his shoulder.

“Be gentle with him, John.” John nodded as Lestrade headed back down the stairs.

John grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it, a bit terrified to see the state of the flat, and absolutely mortified to see his formerly dead best friend. He opened and took a shy step into the room before closing the door behind him. He blinked several times to be sure that what he was seeing was real. The flat was clean, it was spotlessly clean. He observed the house seeing nothing abnormal. Nobody parts in the fridge, no cigarette butts on the carpet, and no weapons lying haphazardly around. There was evidence that Sherlock was there, his coat was by the door, his shoes were on the rack, and a cold cup of tea was set on the table beside his armchair. However, there was no Sherlock himself. John continued down the hall towards Sherlock’s bedroom.

He tapped on the door with his knuckle. “Sherlock?” he called.

He heard rustling from the other side of the door before a rough voice called out, “John? I didn’t know you’d be home yet, j-just give me a moment.”

Sherlock sighed in relief as he heard John walk back down the hallway. He groaned as he sat up to get out of bed. He felt like his whole body was on fire, the stitches were itchy and red. He deeply regretted deep cleaning the flat instead of resting like he was told. He shrugged however and reached over on his nightstand, he grabbed two pain pills and dry swallowed them before standing. As he stood he removed his wedding ring and shoved it in the drawer.

He grabbed his dressing gown and threw it on before painfully walking to the living room. When he made eye contact with his husband he suddenly felt two feet tall. John's eyes were ice cold with a rage that he was carefully holding back. Sherlock suppressed any urge he had to run and hug John. They stared at each other for what felt like forever.

“Why?” John asked as he stood to walk to the kitchen.

“I had to protect you.” Sherlock made sure that John wasn’t looking as he slowly sat down in his chair with an expression of agony. “Moriarty threatened to kill you, and faking my death seemed like the only viable option.” He couldn’t help but feel sickened at having to explain himself again.

“Why did you come back?” John removed a mug from the cabinet and began prepping tea. Sherlock found it mildly insulting that John only removed one mug for himself.

“For you.”

“Bullshit.” John slammed the mug on the counter a bit hard. “You do everything for yourself. You’re selfish, remember, selfish enough to jump off a building and make me watch!” John’s voice was rising steadily and Sherlock felt his own heart rate increase.

Sherlock gripped the arms of his chair with shaking hands, “John, I can’t- I can’t do this again.” His voice trembled with the words.

“Oh, and why's that?” John sarcastically replied.

“It’s exhausting.”

“Oh, am I too exhausting for you, Sherlock?”

“John, that is not what I said.” Sherlock was beginning to get annoyed and a headache was already creeping into his head. “Can you please just sit down and I'll try to explain it the best I can?”

John glared at him before taking a seat on the couch. “Fine, you have ten minutes.”

With John finally seated Sherlock began his tale about how he faked his death and how he returned. He also explained their trip to Greenland to catch Moriarty. However, he left out their marriage and the baby. As Sherlock ended his explanation he could feel a heavy tension still in the room. He looked down at the floor in shame as he heard John’s heavy breathing.

“Sherlock, I can’t remember! It’s all there, I can feel it but I just can’t remember.” John pulled at his hair in frustration.

"It's alright John, they'll come back with time," Sherlock assured him as he adjusted himself so his legs were crossed.

"God, I hope you're right, I just feel like I'm missing something important."

"You'll figure it out, you always do."

They spent the day watching the telly together, but not speaking about anything at all. When the sun had long fallen and the moon had risen they left for their respected bedrooms. Sherlock felt a deep sadness as he laid in bed that night. He imagined the day that John would come home for months, but this wasn’t how he wanted it to be. He felt even lonelier without the presence of Mya.

The conversation ended John's anger but it didn't stop them from avoiding each other like a sickness. They spent the next several days dancing around each other and the issues they were choosing to ignore. Sherlock still couldn't find a way to tell John the rest of the truth. After three days of awkward silence and sideways glances, Sherlock left the flat to go see Mya, leaving John alone for the first time since his release. Sherlock had been sneaking off each night after John went to sleep to see her. Today however he felt that he couldn't stay another day in the flat avoiding his husband. Mya had been staying at Mycroft’s house but spent her days with Greg who had taken the week off. John had woken to find Sherlock's coat and shoes gone. Feeling kind of lonely at being left alone he ate a sad breakfast of toast and coffee.

As he walked through the kitchen to wash his plate he noticed a stack of mail on the counter. He set his plate in the sink and picked up the mail to take it to his chair. As he began sorting through the mail he paused when he read Sherlock’s name. Obviously, a lot of the mail had Sherlock’s name on it, but this was different. This wasn't addressed to William Sherlock Scott Holmes or Sherlock Holmes, it was addressed to William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes. He ripped open the mail and laughed to himself as it was simply a bill. As he unfolded it further he grew confused as he realized that it was actually a bill for an E.R. visit. He made a mental note to ask Sherlock about it later.  
\---------------

Sherlock laughed as Mya's eyes grew wide as he walked closer with the bottle. He allowed Greg to shift her into his lap as he placed the bottle between her small hands. She struggled to hold it (obviously) but he didn't mind holding it up for her. He felt relaxed for the first time in several days. So tired of tiptoeing around John, and just wanting to scream at him. He was so frustrated constantly that his life had been paused, not only paused but reversed. He missed John in bed next to him, and more than anything he wanted to bring his daughter home.

“She’s been an absolute angel!” Greg explained as he secretly took a photo. “She rarely ever cries, only when you leave if I'm honest.”

Sherlock poked her little nose, “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Good I would think- I imagine it just means that she misses you, and knows you’re her dad.”

“Yes, I suppose that it is.” Sherlock was only half listening as he was too entranced by the beauty of Mya’s grey eyes and her goofy smile.

Mycroft walked in the door with his tie already halfway off and his jacket in his grip. He looked incredibly tired and worn out. He nearly didn’t even notice that his brother had shown up uninvited. “Sherlock, you’re here early.” He mindlessly walked to the kitchen and prepared himself a drink.

Greg gave him a deeply concerned look, “you alright, My?”

Mycroft made his way over to the couch and took a seat beside Greg. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just been a very very long day I suppose. How was she today?”

“Wonderful as always. She may have ruined our sheets though…had a little issue with the diaper change.”

Mycroft gave him a half-smile, “since when were they our sheets?”

Greg scratched his head nervously, “well I mean I- stay here almost every night.”

Sherlock cleared his throat and stood, “whelp, I’m going to go home before John begins to wonder where I went.” He handed Mya over to Mycroft who quickly passed his whiskey glass to Greg instead. Sherlock hurried out the door because the last thing he wanted to hear about was his brother's love life.

\---------------  
Sherlock walked into the house with several bags of groceries and began putting them away. John might’ve found this odd, but he had been living alone for quite a while. John nervously stepped into the kitchen and grabbed the bill off the counter. He waited for Sherlock to finish unloading the groceries before getting any closer.

“Hey, Sherlock?” John tapped the letter against his palm.

Sherlock turned to close the fridge. As he spotted the letter in John’s hand he leaned against the counter and gave him an odd look. “Are we going through my mail now?” Sherlock crossed his arms.

“I’m sorry I know I shouldn’t have but it’s so weird!” John got closer and pointed to the front of it, “That’s your name and my last name with it! That’s weird, right? Also, why were you in the hospital?”

Sherlock seemed to deflate immediately and his eyes fell to the floor, “John, I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do, what? Is something wrong, are you sick?” John's voice rose in panic.

“No- no that’s not it. That’s not it at all.” Sherlock moved to sit down at the table, and John followed quickly. “Please- please don’t yell. I can’t take another fight with you.”

“What? Why would I yell? Just tell me!"

Sherlock took a deep breath, “we’re married.”


	12. Confusion

John stared at him for a while, his eyes were completely blank. His mouth hung open like a dead fish, and it was clear the only thing he was really hearing was the static in his ears. Sherlock didn't dare meet his eyes, as he feared his reaction. Eventually, after several minutes John finally seemed to shake out of it.

"Why did we do it?"

Sherlock looked at him with squinted eyes, "that's an odd question…. Love."

"I wasn't mad at you when you came back?"

Sherlock laughed lightly, "you were furious, you even moved out for a month."

"Then how did this," he motioned between them, "happen?"

Sherlock sighed and leaned forward, he grabbed one of John's hands gently, "I think maybe that's enough shock for one day."

John pulled his hand off the table and tucked it into his lap. "Please, whatever secrets you have just tell me! I want to remember, and maybe if you keep telling me I'll remember!" John pleaded.

Sherlock groaned and leaned back into the chair, "are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"John, I came back after three months because I couldn't risk getting hurt, I had to protect a third person in all this." Sherlock began to shake, "I'm sorry, John! I didn't want it to be like this."

He paused for a minute as he felt tears streaming down his face. None the less he continued, "I was pregnant, and I just needed to come home to you." He sobbed into his hands too afraid to look at John any longer.

He jumped as he felt strong arms wrap around him. He leaned into the embrace and cried for all it was worth. He barely comprehended John's comforting words. Sherlock stilled as he heard John also crying, confused he pulled away.

"John?"

"Did the baby- did the baby not make it?"

Sherlock smiled, "John, she's fine. She's with Mycroft and Greg. They offered to take her while I figured out how to tell you everything." Sherlock explained.

"It's a girl? What's her name?" John seemed as curious as a baby deer.

"Her name is Mya Grace. You named her." Sherlock explained with a proud look on his face but it seemed sour through his tears.

"I-i think I need a minute." John stared at his hands.

Sherlock stood from his seat, "take all the time you need. I think I'm gonna go lay down for a bit."

Sherlock left John in the kitchen while he wandered back to his room. He tried to nap but he was just far too sore still to be comfortable. He busied himself by looking at photos of Mya that Greg had sent him over the past few days. He also carefully listened to John's movements around the flat. He only heard him move from the kitchen to his armchair. There was no typing or page-turning so he could imagine it all very clearly. John was sitting there with his legs crossed leaning on the palm of his hand, thinking. Like he always did when he was stressed.

It was much later into the evening when Sherlock left his room in favor of a quick meal. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed as he entered the main room. John was nowhere to be seen and his shoes were gone. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat as he pulled a bowl from the cabinet. He figured John would leave, he just hoped that he’d be able to stall it for as long as possible. He prepared the cereal in the bowl and sat at the table. As he stared at the door he suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. He stood and dumped the bowl into the sink. He instead reached for an abandoned bottle of expensive whiskey on the counter and headed back to his room. He definitely wasn’t planning on getting pissed but as he sat looking out the window he lost track of how many times he pulled the bottle to his lips.

John, however, had wandered into the house well past midnight after spending several hours circling the lake nearby. He dropped his jacket on the back of his chair and struggled with his heavy feet up the stairs to his bedroom. He shed his clothes and replaced them with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. As tired as he was when he laid his head down on the pillow he couldn't seem to fall asleep. He tossed and turned for a while before a piercing scream filled the flat.

Sherlock wasn’t aware that he had even ever gotten into bed, let alone fell asleep. Unfortunately for him, his drunken slumber had been interrupted by a nightmare. It was something about Serbia but he couldn’t remember anything but the illusion of pain. He felt a scream leave his mouth as he flew awake, clutching at the blankets around him. He sat swaying slightly from the alcohol as he reached for a pill bottle in the dark. He’d experienced this enough times to memorize the location of the sleeping pills among the rest of the medications. As he popped open the lid he jumped at the sound of a knock on the door causing him to drop them all over the floor. “Fuck.” he hissed.

“Sherlock? Are you alright? I’m coming in!” John called from the other side.  
Sherlock groaned as the lights turned on lighting up the room. Sherlock felt mildly ashamed at the state of it as he hadn’t done laundry for a while, nor dusted, the bin was overflowing, and his nightstand was littered with old glasses. Sherlock said nothing to John as the other man entered the room. He only dropped ungracefully to the floor to pick up the dropped pills, hissing as his stitches pulled.

“I heard screaming.”

“Yes, I- don’t worry about it.”

John knelt beside and began assisting him. As John picked up the first one he examined it and recognized it immediately. “Sherlock, why do you have these?” Sherlock could sense John’s unease.

“Don’t worry they’re prescribed.” His words slurred but John didn’t comment.

John looked offended for a second, “Sherlock, that’s not what I asked. I mean why do you need them?”

“They’re sleeping pills John, why do you think I need them?” He ran his hand through the carpet making sure that he had gotten them all.

John handed the pills to Sherlock before standing, “What were you dreaming about?”

“Same old things just stuff from Serbia, and Greenland. It’s really nothing.” Sherlock capped the bottle and placed it back on the nightstand. “I would like to go back to sleep now, John if you don’t mind. I had a bit too much to drink, and I just want to sleep it off.”

“Do you- do you mind if I stay?” John asked from the doorway as he rocked on the heels of his feet.

Sherlock looked at him funny, “are you alright?”

“I couldn’t sleep, it feels wrong in there all of the sudden,” John explained.

“I guess, it is our room after all.” Sherlock picked up the bottle from the other side of the bed and dropped it on the floor beside him.

John awkwardly turned off the lights, moved to his own side of the bed, and got under the covers. “Can I meet her?” John asked as he stared at the ceiling. Sherlock turned to look at him, “that’s a stupid question. Of course, you can, she’s your child.”

“Do you think she’ll like me?” John turned to look at Sherlock.

“John, she’s a week old.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and he started to turn away towards the wall. He, however, groaned in pain instead. John sat up on his elbows and squinted at him, “where are you hurt.”

“John, please just let it go.” Sherlock closed his eyes hoping to end the conversation.

“No, what is wrong with you. You can either tell me about why you’re absolutely pissed or let me be a doctor.”

“Fine, Jesus, it’s just these damn stitches, I’ve been overdoing it a bit lately. It’s really fine.”

“Let me see,” John demanded as he rolled out of bed and went back over to turn on the light. Sherlock with a scowl on his face pulled the cover off of himself and laid there stubbornly. He had forgotten he hadn’t changed clothes. “Show me where.”

Sherlock pulled off his shirt in a series of slow painful movements. He didn’t look John in the eye as the doctor began assessing him. “Bloody hell…” John spoke mostly to himself. He could feel John’s cold hands pressing around the wound. He whimpered at a particularly sore spot. “Sorry Sherlock, I was just seeing if maybe it’s infected, it’s pretty inflamed. This is a really large incision for a c-section.”

Sherlock’s lips tightened into a firm line, “She was a bit turned around is all.”

John nodded and continued his examination. He eventually walked out into the bathroom before returning with a large medical kit. “I can’t tell, I think it’s in the early stages but I think I’m gonna maybe remove a stitch and see if I see anything else.”

“Fine.”

John went ahead and prepped everything. It was relatively simple as he made a simple snip with the scissors and used a small pair of forceps to gently check underneath. John made a disapproving noise before stitching it up again and removing his gloves. He did indeed see the beginnings of an infection but the state of Sherlock’s body worried him greatly. Sherlock was abnormally skinny, skinnier than he’d seen him before.

“It’s got a little infection.” John explained as he continued throwing away the trash, “I'm going back to work tomorrow so I’ll bring home some stuff for it.”

Sherlock nodded and pulled on a t-shirt that was discarded on the floor. John stood to take the medical kit back to the bathroom, “I’m just gonna put this back and grab some water.” John left and returned a few minutes later with a glass of water in his hands. Sherlock was already back in bed trying to sleep once again. John rounded the bed and set it onto the nightstand.

“Hey, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and were wide with irritation, “for god's sake go to bed!”

“Is this mine?”

“Is what yours? If it’s over there it probably is.” Sherlock turned to look at John and sat up when he saw what he was holding. “Oh, uh- yes, yes that is yours. I can put that somewhere else if you want.” Sherlock looked incredibly worried at the sight of John holding his wedding ring. He cursed himself for leaving it sitting out in the open. John stood there just staring at it.

“John?” Sherlock moved towards him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

John turned to look at him. They made eye contact for a moment, “yeah, yeah I’m fine just tired.”

“Alright… “ Sherlock went back to laying down. He felt incredibly unnerved as he watched John gaze at the ring that he twirled in his fingers. He was just about to drift off to sleep when John leaned over him. “John what-” he didn’t finish his sentence because John’s lips were on his. He laid there completely still until the other man leaned away.

"Well, that was unexpected." Sherlock sputtered as he sat up in shock.

“We never expect anything in life, it just happens,” John smirked at him hoping that Sherlock would understand.

Sherlock pushed him on his back. “You remember?” He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were wild.

“Yeah.” John smiled softly. “I don’t know why but something about that ring- just sparked it.”

“I don’t care what did it, I just care that you remember!” They laid back down facing each other.

John caressed his face gently, “I love you. I can’t wait to meet our daughter. When can we see her?”

“Tomorrow morning, we can bring her home.”

"Good. Now put your wedding ring back on because I need everyone to know that such a handsome man is taken." Sherlock gave John a grin as he finally fell asleep.


	13. Starting Over

One month after the fall

Mycroft Holmes strolled down the aisle of the store holding a case of toilet paper, and a carton of milk. He turned to leave the isle and bumped into someone causing them to drop their boxes of oatmeal. Mycroft hurriedly set his groceries on the shelf and knelt to pick up the boxes.

"God I'm so sorry I'm just a bit clumsy!" He laughed nervously as he stood to hand back the items. His laugh disappeared, "Detective Inspector, I didn't expect to see you here." He handed the boxes back and picked up his own stuff.

"I can say the same for you. Don't you have assistants for this?" He motioned to the shelves around him.

Mycroft smirked, "Normally yes but they, unfortunately, are too stupid to understand that one-ply toilet paper is unacceptable and I like fat-free milk."

Greg shifted uncomfortably, "well how are you doing since ya know…"

"Oh yes, I'm doing quite well. It is however still very tragic. I miss my little brother dearly, I would do anything for him." Odd enough for Mycroft his words were indeed true.

Lestrade noticed that Mycroft had spoken about Sherlock in the present tense and he found it odd. "Would?"

Mycroft's face fell, "perhaps we should go speak somewhere else."

\-------------  
Now

John exited the cab following Sherlock reluctantly. He could feel himself shaking as they approached the door of Mycroft's flat. Sherlock, however, didn't knock, he instead pulled out his keys and unlocked the door himself.

"Sherlock? Is that you?" Greg called from the kitchen where he was making his coffee.

"Yes, I've got John with me as well."

John had never actually been in Mycroft's house before. It was pretty much he expected it. Beautiful white leather couches with charcoal-colored furniture and a modern looking kitchen. The floor across the flat was completely hardwood. It was kind of surprising that he didn't live in a large house in the country or something. The flat was tiny as far as he could tell.

"You've got John with you?" Greg walked into the main room. His hair was still messy, and he was dressed in sweatpants and an expensive robe.

"Where's Mya?" Lestrade gave him a horrified look, "relax Greg, he remembers."

"Oh, well! She's in the bedroom with Mycroft, I believe he's still sleeping. I'll go get her."

John moved to sit on one of the couches while he waited for Greg to return. Sherlock nervously paced the room, his shoes hitting the floor in a perfect beat. “Sherlock, I’m scared,” John admitted as he stared fearfully down the hall.

Sherlock paused his pacing, “I think that’s normal, isn’t it? I was scared all the way up until she was finally in my arms.”

“What was it like? Seeing her for the first time?”

“I don’t think it’s anything that I can explain. I guess… It felt like finally filling this gap in myself I've had for so long.” He moved to sit down next to John. “I don’t think that what you will feel is anything negative.”

John opened his mouth but stopped when Mycroft and Greg came into the living room with a baby wrapped tightly in a fluffy grey blanket. Sherlock stood to take the baby from Greg’s arms and held her close. He kissed her on the forehead before sitting back down and handing her to John.

John froze when she was fully settled in his arms. He suddenly knew actually what Sherlock had meant. As he looked into her eyes this incredible warm feeling overcame him. Warmer then he felt sharing a bed for the first time with Sherlock, and warmer then he felt marrying the man.

“She’s got your eyes, John.” Sherlock pointed out.

“She certainly does, doesn’t she?”

Mycroft and Greg sat on the other couch, watching the new parents finally be a family. They sat together for a long time before Mycroft cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s a good time to go gather up her stuff. I’ll go grab her bag and whatnot. I'm glad to see you back, Doctor Watson...Holmes." Mycroft smirked before leaving the room.

John looked up from Mya to give an amused look to Greg. "So you and Mycroft, huh?”

“It was… unexpected but I can’t say I regret it. I certainly get treated like a king. Anyway, I'm much more interested in how you both ended up on my doorstep this morning."

"Last night we talked about everything, and something about my wedding ring made me remember," John explained as he made cooing noises at the baby.

"I'm happy you're back to yourself, John. I didn't think Sherlock would've made it without you." Greg explained not really paying attention to the words he said. Sherlock, however, had straightened and looked fearfully at Greg.

John's softened eyes hardened as he looked up to make eye contact with his husband. "What?"

Sherlock kept eye contact choosing to be stubborn. "It's hard on a body to be pregnant, and I didn't have you. It was a very stressful time but I'm better now, I'll get better."

"I need you to talk to me. We have to get past this. I saw the antidepressants this morning, and good lord you look like you didn't even have a baby two weeks ago!"

"You got shot and it's my fault!" Sherlock snapped before standing. The younger man snatched his coat up from the coat hanger and left the house in a hurry.

Mycroft emerged from the hall a moment later with two large bags of baby stuff, and he dragged a large box behind him. "We decided that since you never had a baby shower to just go ahead and spoil her like crazy. The crib is in the box, we never set it up. She just slept surrounded by pillows between me and Gregory." John could see the faintest hint of hurt deep in his eyes. He had grown highly attached to Mya during her stay.

John gave him a saddened look, "will you guys be alright?"

"Yes, I think it will be nice to finally have the house to ourselves again." Mycroft moved forward to take the baby from John one last time. "Though I can't say I didn't enjoy the new atmosphere in the flat." He poked her nose causing her to giggle. Mycroft reluctantly handed the baby back to John.

Greg stood and wrapped his partner in a suffocating hug. Greg whispered something in his ear that John couldn't hear. After a moment he released him and turned towards John.

"Well, I'll drive you back to Baker Street."

John nodded before grabbing the bags.

\-------------  
John and Greg hoisted the box up the stairs of Baker Street before dropping it in the center of the living room. Mya giggled from where she sat in her cradle on John's armchair. He smiled before he and Greg left to go retrieve the two bags. Greg removed both bags from the trunk and handed them to John.

"Hey, Greg?" He asked as he opened the door to Baker Street.

"Yeah?" Greg had opened the driver's side door and was about to get in.

"Will you be okay?"

"I think maybe that My and I might have somehow convinced ourselves that we could have a family… like that… I think we'll be fine, we have each other and I think that's all we need." Greg entered the car and left without John's response.

As Lestrade arrived back home he found Mycroft sitting silently in his study. He looked devastated as he sipped his whiskey and turned the pages of his book. Greg approached slowly unsure of how to respond to this.

“Yes. Gregory?” Mycroft looked up from his book, his eyes were red from crying.

“Oh, My! What’s wrong?” Greg leaned on the side of his desk.

“I-I just want a family.”

Greg looked down, his face filled with disappointment, “I thought we were a family.”

Mycroft’s eyes shot open with guilt, “Of course we are, I just feel like we’re missing something.” They sat in silence for several long seconds before Greg raised his head.

“Do you- do you want a baby, My?”

Mycroft pushed his Whiskey around with his finger without looking up. “I wish we could, but we’re both forty. Even if we had a baby it’s not safe for you or me to even carry it. Maybe we could just get a dog.” Mycroft scoffed at himself.

“We could adopt.” Greg moved to sit in the chair in front of him.

“A dog?”

“A baby, Mycroft.” Greg rolled his eyes at his partner.

“Maybe- maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

\------------------  
John trudged back up the stairs and towards Mya who was busy curiously looking around the flat. John smiled lovingly before walking towards his and Sherlock’s shared bedroom. He peered in and was confused when he didn’t find his husband sulking in bed or smoking while sitting on the window sill.

“Sherlock?” He called as he slowly crept back into the main room.

“John? Is that you?” John sighed in relief as he heard Sherlock’s voice call from the upstairs bedroom.

He looked over to Mya who was already fast asleep. He took the stairs two at a time and rushed into the room. He froze as he took in the scene before him. Paint cans were strewn around the room and Sherlock himself was standing on ladder painting planets along the walls. Sherlock’s eyes squinted with focus as he put beautiful swirls on what John deduced to be Jupiter. The younger man was covered in splotches of paint from head to toe.

“Sherlock- what is this?” John motioned to the room around him.

“I’m painting Mya’s room. I meant to do it months ago but I… I never got around to it.” Sherlock stepped down from the ladder wiping his hands on his trousers. “Listen, John. I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Will you talk to me now?” John asked.

“Yes, I suppose if you pick up a brush and start helping me,” Sherlock smirked as he bent down to open another can of paint.

John grabbed an abandoned paintbrush and a can of yellow paint before moving towards one of the black walls. He dipped his brush and slowly began making careful strokes on the surface. For a while, they said nothing just enjoying the company of each other.

“Hey, Sherlock?” John asked as he dipped his brush again, “why do you blame yourself?”

Sherlock froze but didn’t turn around, “I walked into the docks thinking that I was invincible I pranced in like a moron. You tried to stop me and I didn’t… stop. I could’ve hurt our daughter and even Lestrade. There is no one else to blame, John.”

“Have you ever considered that the only person to blame is the person who fired the gun? Also, I followed you down to Moriarty, and that’s on me and me alone.” John turned to look at Sherlock who still kept his back to him. John frowned as he watched Sherlock bow his head. “Sherlock?”

“I’m so sorry, John. Everything was such a mess and I just couldn’t stop flinging around the trash.” Sherlock finally turned from the wall still staring at the floor. “I’m a pretty sorry excuse for a husband.”

John set the paintbrush on top of the can and walked towards his husband. “I think we both made a right mess out of this.” John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and leaned in for a kiss that the taller man reluctantly returned. “I know we have work to do. I know you need help and we’re gonna get you it, but I want to start over. I want to pretend that this never happened and just be together. Doesn’t that sound like a better idea?”

Sherlock smiled, “Yeah, I think I want that too.”

John released his hug and moved back towards the paint, “whatever happened to Moriarty and my shooter?”

“Locked up somewhere for now.”

The two men groaned as the shrill cry of a newborn filled the house. They got downstairs to find a very fussy baby with a very full diaper. Sherlock cringed inwardly as the smell radiated through the room. John’s face had gone a greenish color and was looking more and more like he was going to puke.

“Holy shit that is bad, just absolutely awful!” John ranted as he stepped back from the baby.

“Language, John.” Sherlock gave a devious smile, “it’s your turn.”

John looked at him like a deer in headlights. “What? No, absolutely not!”

“Come on John, it’s your kid and I changed it last time. Also to be quite frank I’m feeling like I need a bit of a laydown.” Sherlock strutted down the hall.

“Sherlock! Sherlock- Sherlock Watson-Holmes do not leave me here! Oh for fu- fricks sake.” John began approaching the baby when a thought occurred to him. “Sherlock! You better not lay on the bed with all that paint on you! If I find paint on our sheets you will sleep on the couch I swear to god!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I would love to know what you guys thought of this! I have a lot of similar works in progress that I have yet to post.


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